Stitches
by AlwaysEatTheRude21
Summary: Killing was easy. Saving someone, that was the hard path to walk. When Harriet grows sick of the world, she decides it's time to go back to where it all started and fix the first wrong. However, she never expected 1919 Britain to be as it was, nor the interference and constant presence of a group that called themselves the Peaky Blinders. Tommy/Fem!Harry, Alfie/Fem!Harry.
1. station

**~Chapter One: The Lady In Pink.~**

 _... A stitch in time saves nine..._

Harry vividly remembered her aunt, thin and bony, towering over her huddled form, watching her like a vulture as Harry sewn away. She remembered Petunia saying that to her, spittle flying from her sharp mouth, lips pressed together in agitation of likely having to converse with her young niece. Back then, back when she lived under the stairs and cowered from shadows, it didn't happen often, bi-monthly if that, Petunia was used to Vernon buying her new clothes as soon as colour even hinted at fading in her clothes, but there would come a time, every now and again, when Harry would be doused under clothes and expected to fix it, like they expected everything else from her. Abruptly, without explanation or guidance, and punishment given if a single thing went awry.

 _Harry loathed sewing._

That didn't count for much, not in the Dursley household at any rate. Harry did what she was told, silently and quickly, questioning or complaining led to anger and anger led to a very heavy, very red faced uncle. She had learned that lesson quickly. So, she would huddle in her cubby hole, bare bulb above her head obnoxiously flickering, under piles of clothes, Petunia at her door, peering through the grate, snarling orders and that damned saying. Harry would try her best to block it all out, to work her best, she always did back then. Sometimes she would have to go through the night like that, fingers numb and cold, bloody blotches where the needle had pricked, back aching from her hunched over form and lack of space, bone tired and sore.

Harry would admit, even to very recently, she had never fully understood that saying, never given it much mind before apart from an unwarranted thought popping to the forefront every now and again. After all, what had stitches got to do with her measly lot in life? How would stitches end lord Voldemort? How would stitches stop uncle Vernon's meaty fists when his temper inevitably snapped? Why not, instead of spending hours upon hours sewing, didn't you just look after your clothes better in the first place? That saying, for whatever reason, be it a lack of sanity, repetition or premonition, drove her up the wall whenever it crossed her often swirling mind.

She had just turned eighteen when the understanding of the saying finally sank in. When, alone in bed, staring vacantly at the peeling ceiling of her bedroom in Grimmauld place, she could have sworn black and blue she heard aunt Petunia's voice whispering that wretched saying, moist and hot, in the shell of her ear, it swirling down and burrowing into her mind like water down a drain. Around and around.

On instinct, her fist had almost relinquished its prison of bed sheets, an after effect of nightmares best left to her subconscious, and punched the empty space beside her. Still, in those early morning hours, with that saying repeating again and again in her mind, it did take her away from the nightmare imprinted on the back of her closed eyelids, still being able to see it's phantoms and shadows play out when she let her eyes drift close, snapping them open as soon as it happened.

People, in all walks of life, in all colours, flavours and smells, in their vast world, they all linked together, like threads to create life in all its beautiful diversity. Mother's, son's, friends, enemies, lunatics, children, strangers... So different yet side-by-side, together in what they called existence, weaving between and through each other until they were all linked as one. You could live on the other side of the world, yet you could bet you knew someone who cared for someone who was related to someone so opposite to you, living on the other side of the world. People, they linked even the most distant of souls.

That nameless, faceless, homeless man you turned your nose up at, turned away from and hurried passed? In another life, with different choices not took, could have been the bloody king of England, he could have been the surgeon to save your child's life, he could have been the policeman that saved you from a mugging, he could have been a war hero. That was the true beauty of life, the fact that...

 _He still could be._

He could be all that and so much more. If only someone, anyone, had given him the right choices, offered him options. But life, in all its beauty, was made from equal parts of unbound cruelty, and would not easily give such things to one person. People called it fate, you got your slot in life and that was that. Harry thought it was the ultimate form of oppression, and never, and she sincerely meant never, should you just sit back and accept things for face value. Why have free will if you weren't willing or brave enough to exercise it? That homeless man, though, he wouldn't change, too many people walked passed him, too many turned a blind eye to his suffering. So, Harry knew, no matter how much she wished it and hoped, he would forever stay as he was, a fraying thread. Life, while it created and glowed majestically in all its wonderment, it burnt and destroyed just as much. A poisoned gift if there ever was one. Harry knew that better than anyone she would wager.

But Harry wasn't as cruel and as heartless as life. She could make her own choices, give her own options if she was willing to bleed and sweat for it. And by Merlin, faced with what she was, she was willing to pay whatever price it took. She could do it all and more, just like that homeless man.

Over the following week after that horrid night, Harry watched and what she saw only solidified her determination as she took in the gormless and hollow faces that were once so full of exuberant life. They all needed that spark to light the way, that one single struck match and maybe, just maybe, the heat and light would create something new, something better.

Well, Harry had always been good at lighting fires under people's toes.

This world, this time, it was all wrong. So very, very, very wrong. All she could do, all she could feel, see and think when faced with all this, the failings of their forefathers, their parents, their ancestors... Themselves, was think of that bloody saying that had been dancing around her tortured mind. _A stitch in time saves nine..._

It was hard asking the right questions, the real ones that got down to the weeping core of the matter. However, finding the right answers to those right questions was like trying to find the needle in the haystack. Almost impossible. So, alone, as she was often these days, Harry spent days trying to puzzle it all out, locked in the library of Grimmauld place. Who was the first stitch that had come undone, leading to this unholy mess? Where, when, how, why did the first tear appear? And how in all that Merlin smiled upon could she fix it?

Like all peek-a-boo answers that teased you but then slipped from your grasp, it came to light under tears, a premature goodbye and another lost friend. Harry, still dressed in her mismatched pyjama's, hair a positively bed-riddled mess had received a floo call in the very thick of the night. Harry had rushed off, not bothering to get changed before the last sentence even left the Healer from saint Mungo's mouth. As she arrived, as she was led down to the bowels of the hospital, as she stared into the blank, puffy and lifeless eyes of one Luna Lovegood, her body covered by a sheet as it was levitated into the room, the healer rattling on about suicide and insincere apologies, the answer came to her in a pound of heart, blurry eyes and Luna's ageless face.

There had been a woman, long ago, who had died before her time like glittering Luna. A woman everyone overlooked, like Luna. Even the history books, the ones newly printed about the second wizarding war, had stricken her from their tight and stodgy, emotionless text. When, really, she had played such an instrumental role in it all... The catalyst even, Harry would say. A woman who fickle fate had beaten down. A woman who had choices taken from her, restricted by things out of her control, some her own foolish choices she had taken in desperation. The same desperation that had coursed through Harry like torrents of crucio through her blood and marrow as she stared at Luna's body.

There was once a woman that could have saved so many people if she had have just... Lived. She could have saved their world from soul-crushing war, saved their crumbling society that still hinged on an ideology long outdated. If only she had someone in her corner, someone she could have turned to, someone who would have listened, backed her corner, helped her build herself up, protected her... A friend.

Harry didn't come to a quick decision, even then as she marched out of saint Mungo's. Despite everything inside her yelling, screaming inside her to just do it, she could fix everything, she could make a better world, and wasn't that what she was supposed to do if Trelawney was to be believed? But, alas, she couldn't just jump in head first like she had so many other times before. She had rushed once and for her efforts, for her grave mistake, Sirius had paid the ultimate price. She wouldn't and couldn't make that mistake again. She only acted a year later, two months after her nineteenth birthday, when Molly had come over in a flurry of tears and sobs, harboring the news George had died, suicide too like Luna. The choice was chosen and set as she held Molly to her, silent, for there was nothing she could say. Another gone and another would follow, Harry was sure, until they were all dead and rotting in the ground, the last remnants of a war that had destroyed just as much when it was over as it had when it was raging.

It wasn't exactly that hard to snatch Hermione's time turner when she had to drag the woman back to her flat when she had passed out at George's funeral, a weeping and heavily pregnant Angelina present. It wasn't that hard to calculate the exact amount of turns the bloody thing needed to get where she was going, one-half a turn either way, less or more, could ruin this whole... Plan? Was that what this was? Or a rash decision sailing on the coat tails of immeasurable loss? It didn't matter. It only mattered she got it right, and while Hermione might have been the brains of their trio, Harry wasn't lacking far behind when she actually put effort into it. It wasn't hard to do the research needed to find who she was looking for, and where and when they would be, or what Harry needed to get ready for her trip. She needed to blend in, that meant the right clothes, the right back story... And the right things packed in case an emergency sprang up. What was hard, what Harry had to physically push herself to do, what made her heart pick up pace and doubt set in, was actually doing it. Preparation was simple, actions not so much.

If she did go, she could never come back. She would change too much, she wouldn't recognize the people around her and maybe they wouldn't recognize her either. No, that was a lie, a comfort she told herself. If everything went right, they would never know who she was, she wouldn't be known at all, maybe a footnote in their long and arduous history but nothing more. She would be dead to them and they would be nothing but memories to her. Molly, Arthur, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, McGonagall , Flitwick, Neville, even Lavender... But, it was either stay and burn in the fire or do something about it and well, Harry was after all a true Gryffindor. Maybe, in time, there would be a different her born. One who had two parents who loved her, one who would find her way to a bushy haired muggleborn and a temperamental redhead, a her who would have a life free from bloodshed, death and chaos. A happy life. A life many dead and alive deserved and it all balanced on what her choice was. Harry, at the tender age of nineteen, after having lived through so much, done so much, chose once again, action.

All she left behind, though she knew if she succeeded no one would ever find it because it wouldn't be written, was one piece of parchment and a splodgy scrawling stating one word, goodbye. And as the stolen, illegal Time-turner began to churn around her neck, as she counted down mentally, dressed in clothes from a decade-long passed and a tatty suitcase at her feet, holding things she just couldn't leave behind, all Harry could think was that damned saying, Petunia's voice practically singing it in her ear.

 _...A stitch in time saves nine..._

* * *

"Is this seat taken by any chance?"

The woman glanced up with her eyes, not daring to lift her head or move and inch if the need did not call for it. People didn't speak to her, they walked passed, they looked through, they carried on. She was so used to it now that anything but that felt wrong and uncomfortable. So imagine her immense surprise and the unsettling in the pit of her gut when she spied the lady in front of her, smiling broadly, dimpled and rosy-cheeked... Staring right at her. The woman held no disbelief or exaggerated ego in her looks. How could she when faced with a mirror every day?

She knew how wonky one eye was, always pointing in the wrong direction, her form was always curled in on itself, in self-deprecation or fear, the woman didn't know, she just naturally fell into that posture nowadays. Her hair was heavy and lank, greasy from going unwashed. Mud stains and coal dust smeared across the sallow skin, broad and plain of face. No, the woman held no delusions on what she looked like, especially wrapped in her torn grey dress and even poorer blanket she used as a shawl. She blended into the brickwork, seemingly invisible to those who passed and she liked it that way. People didn't scorn her when they couldn't see her, they couldn't laugh, they couldn't point fingers, they couldn't bat her away with hard hands.

The crowd bustled around them, haggling and bartering, the sound of luggage being dropped and picked up, a man shouting for tickets, the sound of steam rising from the train as it beeped and honked for attention. Through all the smoke, all the people, all the... Life, the woman's eyes stayed trained on the lady in front of her, luggage held in front of her, knuckles white around the handle, two slips of paper crinkled and bent under the pressure, trapped between her unforgiving hands and the leather of her suitcase. And through it all, sitting on that rusted iron bench, through the smog and dirt and grime that was this lonely station in the backwaters of London, the lady in front of her... Glowed like a star.

You couldn't possibly get someone so far away on the spectrum of looks then this lady, for she was a lady, the woman was sure of it, then between her and herself. Her hair was a cascade of fiery curls, bouncy and with a life of their own, half tied back and away from her elven face. Her skin was light, peaches and cream, with a natural flush to her rosette lips and apples of her cheeks, a dusting of freckles ghosting over her delicate nose that begged to be counted dot by rustic dot. Her eyes were wide and thick-lashed, natural in their shade of deep red, topped with arching brows, all crowning her best features, the intense and vibrant green eyes that practically flashed and glowed from beneath the rim of her dusky pink cloche hat. All of it nearly blinded you, almost stopped you from seeing the rather prominent scar decorating her forehead, touching down on one brow and then nearly up to her hairline in a jagged line that resembled a lightning bolt of all things.

Her clothes were the same colour as her hat, a smoky blush, the dress and coat, no jewels or adornments, simple and plain in style, but they did nothing to subtract from her raw beauty, but simply add to it, letting it shine like the northern star. She was like spring brought to flesh and bone, sprouting out and forth truly from the concrete and coal filled place around them. Then the woman spied her feet, feet clad in woman sized men's shoes that already had scruff marks...

"No...No."

Her voice croaked as she scooched on over the bench, pushing herself as far as she could go into the metal bars, giving the lady as much space as possible. She looked young, nineteen, twenty at the very latest. A good three, four years younger than herself. Looking at the lady only flared her own obvious failings and stark ugliness back at her. Plus, when her brother and father were free they wouldn't be happy when they found out she had conversed with a muggle. They would know... They always knew. It didn't matter, people like the lady beside her never spoke to her, never looked. The lady would sit, wait for her train, board and then she would be all forgotten about. She always was.

"Are you planning on a trip?"

The bench cooed and groaned under the added weight, the sound of the ladies suitcase hitting the floor a jolt to her senses, making her jump slightly as she pushed herself further into her little corner she had squirrelled away on the bench. She didn't turn her head, simply peered at the ladies expectant face through a crack in her curtain of hair. The ladies face was bright, grin wide and open for all the world to see. Her voice was warm, airy and had a hint of husk in the background. It was all pleasant... And the woman curled further into herself, pulling tighter on her shawl. Pleasant things didn't come to her, she didn't get that privilege.

"No..."

That was all she could muster up as her eyes flickered back to the crowd, spying the roaming travellers as they passed from platform to platform, all on their way to places she could never dream of going. But oh, how she wished she could. If she did, she could mayhaps make friends, with muggles even, without the pressure of retribution for such an act coming from her brother or father when they finally walked free. Mayhaps she could have her own little flat, cosy and warm. Mayhaps she could even find someone who would see her, who would talk to her, who wouldn't laugh or poke. But that was all a dream and she had learned to stop dreaming a long time ago. Dreams were just one more thing not for her. However, despite thinking that would be the end of their conversation, she didn't mean to be blunt, she really just didn't know how to carry it on, the lady beside her surprised her once more by speaking up, voice just as light and comforting as before.

"Surely you are at the station for some reason, yes?"

Yes, she was, but not for a trip. She came here often, more now than before when her father and brother were home, hovering, making sure she did her chores, making sure she... Behaved as was fitting her blood. She came here to watch the people pass by. Sometimes she would mentally give them stories, errant lovers absconding to marriage, lovers separated by war only to be reunited on this very stone platform she stood on, families celebrating after years of happiness... They were always happy stories, always full of bright things that she couldn't have in her own life, but in a way, it eased her. It made her feel like she was a part of something, that the little slices of happiness she so fervently pictured and imagined could somehow rub off on her and seep into her own drab and dreary life. She was speaking before she could stop herself.

"I... I like to watch the people as they go on trips. The families... They look..."

The lady beside her gave her a long drawn out pause, waiting for her to finish, but the word got lodged in the back of her throat as if even the word was so foreign, she couldn't distinguish it any more. Maybe she had never known it to begin with. Thankfully, as her stuttering got worse, unlike many a people who would laugh and jest on her inadequacies, the kindly, spring wreath of a lady beamed brighter and jumped in for her, saving her from more embarrassment. Something sparked in her chest at the action, something cosy and fuzzy and totally alien to her. But nether the less, even if she couldn't put face and name to it, she liked it all the same.

"Happy."

She gave a stilted and jerking nod, harsh and fast, finally gathering enough courage to peep back at the woman through her hair, only to find her still looking at her. That was another strange thing about this even stranger lady. Normally people, even her family, couldn't wait until she was out of eye line, let alone willingly look at her for more than a passing glance. The spark came back, only this time it stayed and grew into a little torch right in her sternum. Without her knowing it, her stiff arms relaxed and her arms folded in her lap.

"Yes. Happy."

She wanted the conversation to carry on, it was her first since the night her father was dragged away and her brother already in the Auror's hands, how long ago was that now? Six months? A year? But no matter how much she thought, how many words she chose to say, nothing passed her lips and she was at a loss. She should have known better. She was never good at this sort of thing. Now would be no different. The sound of rustling paper drew her eye down to the ladies hands, watching as she idly flicked and fiddled with two slips, bending and twisting the corners.

"Well, all the more reason to go on your own trip isn't it? Unless you have family back home? A fiancée maybe?"

She grew stiff at the innocent question, her arms springing back up to her chest to tighten around her like thick, heavy, iron chains. The answer was simple. No. The reasoning wasn't as quiet as easy to say or acknowledge. Even if she did have her family back in the wooden shack they called home, what she called prison, that didn't necessarily mean she would ever want to return. But she had to. She had no other option. Her father had told her about muggles since she could first hear, her brother too, she had learned how untrustworthy they were. The horrors they would bestow upon you because they knew nothing better because they were animals. Glancing at the still smiling lady beside her, she couldn't help but shiver at the thought. She didn't look like an animal, didn't act like one... Didn't smile like one. Though, her father had told her about those ones too. They were the tricky ones. They looked, talked, acted like you, but were still nothing but savages waiting to cut your throat.

"No. No family or fiancée. I... Why do you want to know? Why are you talking to me?"

The suspicion that lingered in her words fogged in the air and created a barrier between the two. From her peripheral vision, she could see the ladies smile splinter and break at the edges, only, surprise, surprise, for her to get a shock once more when it grew back ten times stronger. The sparkle in the woman's eyes seemed almost proud. Not condescendingly so, despite the lady being younger than herself but appreciative, as if she had said the right thing. She was only forced to turn and face her head on, something she never liked doing, when a pale piano fingered hand shot forth, palm open and inviting.

"Oh, sorry, where are my manners? My name's Harry Potter, short for Harriet. I'm going on my own trip you see. My very first in all honesty. I'm... Well, I'm an orphan and it's my first day out of the orphanage and I'm a bit nervous. I was so nervous I even bought two tickets for the train when I only needed one. I just wanted to see if you had any advice for the road? If you've ever been on an adventure before?"

The boots, the men's boots suddenly made sense to her. Witches, wizards, they had trouble assimilating to the muggle population. Nothing obvious of course, nothing was ever that easy, but when you looked closely, you could always, or should always be able to tell if one was of a magical descendant. They normally looked like any other muggle, but on closer inspection, they always got something wrong. A hair pin used as a broach. Belts used for scarves. Bow ties as cuff-links... Men's boots as women's shoes.

Her father had schooled her on magical blood, of course he had, and she had previously heard the name Potter in the extinguished bloodlines of their world he had regurgitated to her. Though, that was about as far as her knowledge went, she wasn't... Talented enough for any more schooling and as she was kept at home, she hadn't learned to write so reading for herself was out of the question. Still, her racing heart calmed a little at this revelation. Although, more questions flooded her mind. A Potter, in an orphanage? Did something happen to the rest of the family, or was this warm lady a bastard, a squib, a blot on her families name... Like her?

"Did you say Potter?"

She was often like that, her mind further ahead that what her mouth was, it was annoying in a way. When she wasn't stuttering or curled in on herself like a wilted vine, she would repeat the same thing over and over again, thinking over the same thing repeatedly, almost obsessively. It was a habit she couldn't break herself from. The ladies hand fell back to her own lap when hers didn't reach up and shake it. She almost wanted to scorn herself, she had meant to shake it but it had slipped her mind and like so many things in her life, it was too late now to turn back. Thankfully, the lady, Harry she had to remind herself, was still smiling as if nothing was amiss, as if she was speaking and looking at a kindred soul, a friend. Then, conspiringly, she leaned in closer to her, whispering.

"Yes. Don't tell me... Are you like me?"

She gave a nod, this time, less harsh, though she did grimace by the end. No, now she had thought about Harry being magical, she could feel the waves of her soothing magic roll from her being and flutter in the air around her. Harry, despite her disarming appearance of a fresh rose, was strong. Very, very strong and talented in the magical arts. How did she not see it before? She scoffed at herself derogatorily. Another opposing thing between them, while Harry was strong, she was weak. She could barely cast a Scourgify without passing out from magical stress and depletion. No, they were alike but so different. the sun and the moon really.

"A little, yes."

Harry pulled back from her, settling her back along the benches bars. Now, Harry turned away from her, staring and watching the crowd that rumbled and bumbled passed, her hands going back to mindlessly flicking the papers she was holding. She almost wanted to tell her to look back at her, that she couldn't remember the last time someone had looked her dead in the eye and spoke so kindly, she missed the green warmth. Though, she managed to hold onto the tatters of her dignity with an iron grip at last possible second.

"You never answered my question. Have you ever been on an adventure?"

She relaxed back into her own seat, her arms loosening their bruising grip on her torso and scarf, she too staring off into the bustling swarm of people milling around them.

"No, I haven't. To be honest, I wouldn't know where to start. What are you suppose to do... Just board a train?"

Earlier she was having trouble getting her words out, now she had trouble to keep them from spilling forth like a plague. What was it about this Harry? Was it her calm and welcoming aura? Was it her easy but jovial laced words? Was it her friendly demeanour? Was it simply she had missed human contact so much that the first sign of affection she garners, she leaps onto it like a starving basilisk? She didn't know, all she knew was she wanted to tell Harry, she wanted the words to bubble forth and come to life, she wanted everything out there, yet nothing at all. Harry's next sentence froze the very blood in her veins.

"Yes. I would say that would be an excellent start to any good adventure. So... Why don't you?"

She floundered, her words gaining back that stuttering that would anger her father so and send her brother into fits of laughter as she gained more bruises and cuts for her failings. It was on the third attempt of her mouth opening and closing that her words finally found voice, as broken and croaky as it was.

"Are you... Are you asking me to come along?"

Harry finally turned away from the backdrop of the station, turning in her seat slightly so her body faced her too, her fingers stalling in their twiddling of crunching paper, smile back on her face, beaming through the grime that clung to the air itself, like a lighthouse through the fog, guiding a ship home... Or warning of danger. She was overwhelmed then. Well and truly overwhelmed as she simultaneously wanted to smile at this brilliant woman who had strolled into her life, or run and never look back.

"Why not? I don't have anybody waiting for me and you said you have no one waiting for you. What's stopping you? I promise, if you want to come back I'll pay for it and personally see you right back to this very bench. Maybe it will just be for a day, a week, maybe you'll like it so much you'll never come back here, who knows? But come on, I know that look. You can't wait for life to come to you, hoping, you have to go out there and grab it. Like I am. You know what they say, an adventure shared is an adventure worthwhile. So, what do you say?"

She shook her head back and forth, the straight locks whipping her cheek with the speed as she tried to formulate the words and worries creating a hurricane in her mind. Her own knuckles turned white as she wound her fingers deeper into her shawl, tangling them in the ratty material until she was sure it was going to rip under the pressure or cause her bones to break from the strain.

"I... I... I couldn't possibly! I have no money, no luggage, no idea where I would be going."

She had barely finished before Harry was talking, swatting her flimsy excuses, foolish to even her own ears, like one would with an annoying fly. The truth was... It was tempting. So tempting to just agree, to damn the consequences and stroll onto that train with a stranger at that and never, never look back. Well, was Harry a stranger, after all, she knew her name? Oh, she was terrible at this. No, she couldn't possibly do this. Her father and brother would be out soon, two years top, one year earliest, and she had to be here. She didn't want to think of what they would do to her if they came home to find her gone, if they ever found her that is. But Harry had said she would bring her back, any-time, even tomorrow if she so wished it...

"That's the fun part of an adventure, though, Isn't it? The unknown? Come on, you can't tell me you come to this station, watch the people live their own lives and never once thought about boarding the next train yourself? As for money, food or luggage, well, we're witches aren't we? We'll find a way. You can't let worries, what if's, should be's or anything else hold you back, you just have to... Do. Do you know what I mean? Now, what do you say?"

What could she say, it was everything she had ever hoped and dreamed being offered to her on a dull morning with sunbeams for smiles and crackling eyes of Avada green. An escape. She could find a new place, she could be a new her, she wouldn't have the locals chasing her down because they knew who her family was... She could make a life. Happy and hole and far away from her family. She could be free. She lurched forward, surprising Harry by the way one of her eyebrows quirked up and her smile grew, as her own joined the red-heads, her hands wringing her shawl.

"An adventure does sound awfully tempting... Oh, bloody hell. I'm going to do it! I'm actually going to do it!"

Harry laughed heartily, her laughter huskier than her voice, but triple its warmth too, almost feeling like a fire in the middle of a blistering winter, it drew you further in. She stopped momentarily, about to draw back into herself when she realized for once in her life, Harry wasn't laughing at her, but with her. Her own warbling chuckles joined Harry's in tempo, cautiously, still nervous. She didn't know what she would do if all this turned out to be another prank from the locals.

"Good! I don't rightly know what I would have done if I had to go on my own. Oh, look, the train's about to depart. Come on!"

Then Harry was off, bending down to snatch up her suitcase and darting between the crowd, stopping while she was still partially in view to look over her shoulder and smile at her, curls blowing into her face, dancing in the air. She froze. This was it. It was all good and well saying you were going to do something, but actually doing it was the tricky thing.

Then, as if a floodgate had been opened, she remembered what Harry had said just moments ago. .. _You can't let worries, what if's, should be's or anything else hold you back, you just have to..._ _Do_. And do she would. Jolting into her own standing, she pushed through the crowd, chuckling as she heard Harry laugh and carry on, turning back around to find an open door in the long redwood and brass train. She was doing it... She was escaping... She was actually leaving.

When she, fortunately, caught up to Harry, she realized how much taller she was, a good shoulder and head. Although, while she was taller, Harry was more endowed than her own lithe and thin form. Willowy is what the nicest thing women would gossip about her, where as Harry was more hour glass. Just as she reached the red-head, she heard her questioning a man in uniform, half stepped out of the doorway, straddling the gap where platform met train, right hand holding onto the door frame, the other holding a cigarette to his lips. Did he work on the train? despite her numerous visits to this very station, she had never questioned how things had worked, she hadn't seen the need to. Now, however, she wanted to know it all.

"Excuse me Mister, where does this train go?"

The man, middle-aged by the sparse grey hairs dusted throughout his mousy brown, in his simple but pristine uniform finally noticed Harry who was standing in front of him. He pulled the cigarette out, billowing out a cloud of smoke, hazel eyes glancing between Harry and herself, his eyes widening when he spotted her behind Harry, eyebrows rising high on his forehead, puzzlement ghosting his features as if he was trying to figure out how the two knew each other or if he really was seeing what was before his eyes. Thankfully, he quickly gained composure and spoke in a thick Cockney accent, eyes settling on Harry and never drifting away. She didn't mind that, she preferred it that way.

"Small Heath, Birmingham miss. Are you two... Friends?"

Harry ignored him and swivelled to face her, smile smaller than earlier, nothing more than an upturn in the corners and a twinkle in her eye. Apprehension and excitement filled her, waiting for Harry to answer the man, almost jittering in her torn and scuffed shoes. If Harry said yes... She would be the first ever friend she had. It felt monumental right then, lost in a crowd and about to board a train to this... Small Heath.

"She's my... Sister. Does Small Heath, Birmingham sound good to you?"

Sister. Harry had told the man she was her sister. That little torch in her chest that had been burning since she had met Harry transformed to a full out camp-fire. She had never had a sister before. She had never really thought about having one, she knew what her brother and father were like, she wouldn't wish that on her worst enemy. But a sister. That sounded... Nice. Real nice. Sisters looked out for each other, didn't they? They protected one another. Laughed with one another. They were more than friends. They were family. And not like the family she had but a true one. When she spoke, she was speaking of more than this place called Birmingham.

"Small Heath sounds perfect."

Harry nodded and twirled back around, arm shooting out with the slips of paper offered to the man who was now scrutinizing the two, as if trying to see if they were really sisters, then shook his head as if he didn't get it and smiled, taking the tickets and tearing off the ends, handing them back. She was confused and bemused at all this ritual. Was this normal practice to enter such things as trains or was it special to this train? She had no more time to ponder questions as she felt a small hand with long fingers wrap around her arm, gently leading her onto the train. The carpet felt nice on the sole of her feet, her left one where the rubber had worn through and left her practically barefoot. As Harry led them down what seemed to be a long hallway, narrow and filled with glass windowed doors, she heard the man shout out behind them, Harry responding before they got too far down.

"Have a good day misses and keep an eye on your luggage! You never know whose on the same tram as you!"

"Thank you!"

Misses. Plural. He had wished her a good day too. She swallowed down the lump and pushed back the tears that threatened to mist her vision. It was no secret she hadn't known much kindness in her life, not much at all and today she had met Harry, someone she really and soulfully believed could become the person she had told the man she was, a sister and then a muggle, a muggle who her father and brother would swear black and blue would do terrible things to her, wished her a good day, even smiling at her with a short wave.

Maybe she wasn't the good for nothing clout. The girl with no brains. The one always in the wrong... Maybe they had it wrong all along, her brother and father. Harry sighed and let go, stopping at a door and pushing it open, holding the door open for her to step through. She did, eventually, when she mustered enough courage. She still couldn't believe she was doing this. But Harry's kindness, that man's kindness, that was all the cement she needed to solidify her decision. Harry was the first to sit on the worn leather seats that had patches rubbed through after she lifted her suitcase up and shoved it into the depths of an overhanging rack, near a window. She followed Harry's movements, not quite sure what was going to happen or what she should do, sitting down opposite Harry, near the window too. Just as a loud whistle rang out, a revelation came to her and for the first time in her life, she spoke first. However, she had a feeling this would only be the first of many to come. All of them were welcome if they held as much promise as Harry whirling into her life and this spontaneous adventure.

"Oh, there you are talking about bad manners, I haven't even told you my name. I suppose you will need to know it if we are sisters. I'm Merope Gaunt. It's a pleasure to meet you Harry Potter."

With a jerk and a rumble, the wheels began to move and Merope jumped, startled by the movement, her eyes flashing outside to see the station pulling away, all she had ever known growing smaller, all the abuse and suffering disappearing over the horizon. She had done it. She had actually done it. Unbeknownst to her, her hand unwound itself from her shawl and her palm, clammy and dirty, pressed against the cool glass, watching as they grew further and further away, eyes wide as realization set in that she was really leaving.

"Well, Miss Merope Gaunt here's to new tidings, adventures and a happy family!"

Her breath fogged the glass as her hand slipped and slid from the glass, falling into her lap as she finally tore her eyes away from the now gone station, smiling shyly at the redhead opposite her. She may be nervous, confused and anxious, but this was all she had ever wanted, but never before brave enough to take. She could have sworn she saw the sun break through the clouds then, glittering down upon her in favour before it was swallowed again. Yes. She had done the right thing. Adventures, Merope thought, were most unexpected. It thrilled her as much as Harry naturally calmed and eased her coarse and frayed nerves.

"A happy family indeed."

And a happy new life.

* * *

 **What is this? Where did it come from? Will I continue? What led to this? I have no clue what-so-ever XD.**

AN: I've recently fallen down a very winding hole that is all things Peaky Blinders. I really couldn't help it, this just came to me one day and, well, I started typing and this came out. The thing I've noticed in time travel fics, especially ones where someone is trying to right the war, is they always go straight to young Voldemort as if he is where it all began. When, really, if you want to change anything, surely it would be his mother, Merope you would visit? I don't know, I'm interested in her character and unfortunately, she is hardly brought to life in the fanfic world so I thought I would try my hand at it. I hope I didn't do too bad.

Some facts about this fic:

1\. I've obviously aged Merope Gaunt up. She was born in 1907, so by 1919 she would have only been twelve, and well, I wanted an older Merope in this fic, so I'm flashing creative licence here, please don't get too mad XD

2\. This is set just slightly before season one of Peaky Blinders and obviously will be going through the seasons, if I carry it on that is.

3\. There will be no Grace I'm afraid. While she gets a lot of hate I don't understand, I just personally don't like her character. Plus, it's easier for what I'm planning to take place if she is just cut out. I know, that's lazy writing but it's just the way it is.

4\. The pairing isn't finalized. Though I have whittled it down to a three-horse race, though I am open up to suggestions if you want to P.M me or leave it in a review. **Here are the pairings.**

 **Tommy Shelby/Fem!Harry**

 **Alfie Solomons/Fem!Harry**

 **Or, the whole nine yards and have Alfie/Fem!Harry/Tommy**

I really can't decide between the two, so like I mostly do in my fics, I leave it up to you beautiful people to decide, after all, you will be reading it, if you want it to continue that is. So, please leave it in a P.M or a review. I'll count them up, and in a weeks time, the 14th October, I'll post a new chapter and the pairing will be decided, so please vote before then.

As always, I hope you enjoyed the insane scribblings from a dribbling fanfiction author. If possible, could you drop a review, even if it's just to let me know whether to continue or if I'm wasting my time? Thank you once again and until next time, stay classy!- _AlwaysEatTheRude21_


	2. Dance

"Well, It's definitely..."

For once in her relatively short life, Harriet was at a loss for words. She and Merope had just gone through a very testing train ride, six hours long, having broken down over in Evesham at one point, having not thought to bring food or water and Merope having a total lack of communication skills had made the whole ordeal a lot harder than Harry had expected it to be.

Of course, she didn't expect to travel back in time all this way, find Merope and the two to hit it right off the bat, skipping off into the horizon with clasped hands and a jaunty tune but by Merlin, Harry was lucky if she got a full sentence out of the severe looking woman. She knew it wasn't Merope's fault, far from it, her family and circumstances had pushed her so far down into the mud she knew no other way to be, but that didn't make this task of getting her out of her shell and living a happy life any easier.

Harry should have known luck wouldn't be on her side, it never was, she was more than likely to trip over luck and crash into tragedy, but just one full conversation would have been pleasant. Harry wasn't the best at social interaction as it was and being the leading party that was meant to make that bloom in someone else, well, it felt a lot heavier than she expected it to. At one point, she had even resorted to the dreaded question of asking what Merope's favourite colour was. How disheartening.

When the train had docked into the station, Harry had been excited, practically bouncing in her seat even. She hadn't ventured much around England, having been locked up in her Aunt and Uncles cupboard, then Hogwarts in summer, the only real exploring she had done of the country she had lived in was being on the run with Hermione and Ron, and obviously that wasn't the best of circumstances to look around in wonder and say 'oh, what a lovely place.'. So, when she had heard of this Small Heath, Birmingham, she hadn't really known what she had signed up for but thought it couldn't possibly be that bad. Surely it was a lovely place, a place she could get Merope to open up in, a place where peace and greenery could help Merope heal from years of familial abuse, a thriving, friendly place of rolling green and honeysuckle hills where Merope could become comfortable and happy, a place so different to anything Merope had known before that it would open her eyes to new things, new possibilities...

She had been so very wrong.

Her first step out of the station, pushing through a thick body of rampaging people, hand tightly clasped around Merope's so they didn't loose each other in the mad rush, she had stepped into an ankle deep muddy puddle. When the passer's by cleared and she could see fully, Harry would admit she winced and she winced hard at what greeted her. Then the smog had hit her squarely in the lungs like a Thestral had just back kicked her ribs and she had nearly coughed up half a lung.

The roads, if they could be called that, were just trodden grooves of mud between narrow and imposing bricked buildings, housing it looked like. People milled around, carts with horses and sacks of food drove passed, the riders spitting on the floor as they whipped the reigns, the sky was a thick grey, from the fog, smog or just plain old English weather, Harry didn't know, but it felt heavy and oppressive. Women and men hung out of their windows, yelling and hollering down to the people that walked passed, one woman even tipping a bucket of dubious looking water right out of one cracked window, contents landing on the people bellow her. All of a sudden, Harry was transported back to Snape's old home in Spinners end, Cokesworth, it only made her grimace harder. So, you would forgive her for her loss of words upon the scenery that greeted her to what she had expected to see. After all, Small Heath sounded so pleasant and quaint...

"Beautiful. Absolutely Beautiful Harry."

Harry's head snapped around to face Merope so fast she was sure she gave it a crack. It was the longest Merope had spoken in a whole five hours and above all else, she hadn't once stuttered or floundered in her speech. Harry had figured out Merope's problem as soon as she had left the station with her in tow. The woman, who was painfully dissociated from the world around her, suffered from a total and utter lack of confidence. In everything from herself to the people around her. She was like a wounded animal, expecting that finishing blow any second, a trapped bunny who had given up a long, long time ago. It made sense, too much for Harry to feel comfortable that Merope thought she would have to lower herself to using Amortentia to get love. That's the only way she believed anyone would love her. The only way Merope could see she would get the happily ever after she so wanted.

Harry was here to dash that, to build her confidence, to give her hope without the lies attached to it. For Harry knew Merope could be happy, she could settle down and have everything she ever wanted but unfortunately for them all, herself included, Happily ever afters didn't exist. Hardships would come, testing times would crash over them, sadness would prevail, that was life. So, while Harry was here to show her the wonders of life, to not give up on herself or the world around her, to keep trying, she had to show Merope reality too, to show her that life came with thorns and that was okay. To have the good, you had to accept the bad too.

Still, at Merope's wide-eyed gander around her, her flushed cheeks, the first colouring she had seen on the woman and her slacked jaw, Harry couldn't help but squeeze her hand harder, assuringly, almost proud of herself despite this all being a happy mistake. Who was Harry to question what Merope found beautiful? Maybe a bit of luck was indeed on her side this day.

"Beautiful it is then. Right, we have four hours before nightfall and we need to find a place to sleep and some food because I don't know about you, but I am famished."

Knowing that the clock was ticking unless they should end up sleeping in a pile of hay, neither woman moved, still looking around themselves, soaking in the busy life that played before them. The idea hit Harry suddenly as she watched a trader, just outside of the station, peddling salted nuts. To gain confidence, you had to accomplish something. You had to try to win. Merope, bless her soul, hadn't been given any chance to try for something that would make her happy or feel accomplished. No one had trusted her enough and that lack of trust had jaded her, making her not trust herself in turn. Well, Harry would have to change that and her idle thought became a plan when Merope spoke up beside her, her hand finally falling away from Harry as she slipped it into a fold of her blanket, looking for all her worth as if she was holding herself together.

"I don't have no money Harry..."

Harry could see the pain it had caused the older woman to admit that, likely another point that she had been ridiculed over and having lived through that, expecting Harry to do the same. Harry pushed back the lump that formed in her throat. She had lived through that too, the bullying that would come from the posher kids at school who saw her drowned in Dudley's clothes, her lunch box missing, her shoes held together with a roll of duct tape. Harry reached out, laying a hand on Merope's shoulder, forcing the woman to look at her as she smiled as big as she could.

"Don't worry, I have more than enough. It's not mine anyway, just stones I've transfigured to coins and notes, so really, as long as I don't die before they can be sold on we'll be fine. Here, take this purse, if we're going to get finished before sundown we are going to have to split. You find a place, I'll get the food."

Harry let go of Merope's shoulder and reached to the thin leather belt that hung around her waist, pulling off one of the purses dangling there, the bigger one of crushed velvet and passed it to Merope, watching as the woman took it and held it to her chest, eyes wide in unadulterated panic. Harry, as much as she wanted to take that ghastly look from Merope's eyes did nothing of the such. Merope needed to try. She needed to feel confident in herself. And in so, Harry would give her the most important task, a place to live in and when, because it would be a when and not an if, Merope came back with a place to sleep in, Harry would congratulate her wholeheartedly. If she didn't, Harry would still congratulate her for trying. She trusted Merope, she believed in her, it was time the woman did the same. The only way that was going to happen was if she actually did something. Yes, Harry was throwing her into the deep end, but she had a feeling under all that grime and dead-eyed dispassion, she was a force to be reckoned with. Sink or swim, so was the way of life.

"H-H-Harry, I d-don't think I can do t-this. You should-"

Harry dropped her suitcase to the floor, distantly hearing the splodge as it hit the soggy ground, swivelling to face Merope dead on as she reached up and grabbed her by her shoulders, her smile never dying down a single watt. She wished, back when she was bruised and stuttering and knobbly kneed, she had someone who would have held her and told her she could do all the things she had dreamed of. Just one person who believed in the small girl with no parents and a rusty cot for a bed. But she hadn't, she had no one back then. Merope would not be the same, not while she was still breathing for the truth was, as much as she could see Tom Riddle in Merope, the swerve of high cheekbone, the eye colour, she could see her nine-year-old self too. It hurt like a bitch, but it also gave Harry a chance to do all the things she wished someone had done for her. A chance to be the person she had so desperately needed.

"Of course you can Merry. Have some confidence... I trust you."

The last three words seemed to be made of the magic that thrummed through both their veins as Merope's manic panic that sharpened her pupils and thinned her lips dusted away like ashes on the cold wind that was blowing passed them. Merope's hands that had begun to wring at the purse and turn white lessened and her hunched shoulders dropped an inch.

"You trust me? You'll... Come back won't you?"

Harry gave a smooth nod, letting go only to bend down and reach to her side to pluck up her sodden suitcase, thankful she had charmed it from weather, opening, damage and extension all before leaving. Slowly straightening out, Harry held the suitcase out to Merope, chuckling as Merope cautiously took it as if it was a bomb about to explode.

"Needless to say I do. And I most definitely wouldn't be leaving my suitcase that holds all my belongings, everything I ever had if I weren't coming back, would I? Look, time is running out, I'll meet you back here in three hours and we'll head to the place you've found and settle in and tomorrow we'll explore. You can do this Merope. After all, you have just boarded a train across England with a complete stranger, what's a little house hunting after that?"

Merope blinked rapidly, her nose crinkled as she gave a jerking nod, mumbling to herself more than Harry.

"I can do this. Okay. Three hours time..."

Harry stepped away, idly running her hands down her clothes to iron out the imaginary creases, a habit from childhood and baggy clothes more than actual need, turned and began walking away, watching her step for any more innocuous puddles that seemed shallower than they were. She had only gotten a foot away when Merope's voice rang out from behind her, freezing her in place as she glanced over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised in question at the quiet woman's sudden outburst.

"I like it!... Merry... I like that name..."

Harry smiled broadly, only to huff and dodge a step back as a man yelled out and a horse and cart trampled passed her, kicking up loose mud in their wake. Shaking her head at the swearing man, shoving down the urge to salute him with her middle finger, Harry only shouted back to Merope as she set off to find a grocery store or bakery of some kind.

"Merry it is! Merry and Harry! Remember, three hours! I'll see you soon!"

Harry was darting through the crowd and totally lost in the wildlife of Small Heath's humanity before Merope began to move, shuffling her feet, sticking close to the wall and away from the crowds, purse hidden in her shawl and suitcase tight to her side, a small slither of a smile lighting her down-turned face.

"Merry and Harry Gaunt... Like true sisters."

* * *

 _Merope P.O.V_

Merope kept her head down, her eyes glued to the floor, only darting them up to take a quick survey of the area before they stuck themselves back to the floor. She kept as close to the walls and corners as possible, skirting around people and crowds. To say she was anxious, nervous, completely out of her depths would be an understatement of the century. She had no idea where she was, she knew not where to go, who to speak to, if she had to speak to anyone, or where she was supposed to find accommodation for her and Harry. Did you just walk into any old house, pay a person and that was that? Did she have to seek a special person? Was there a certain place she needed to find or would anywhere do? She was lost, metaphorically, physically and mentally. Her heart felt like it was about to burst from her chest, her breath came in quick bursts and she couldn't stop chewing the inside of her cheek until copper tinged her taste buds. Things couldn't get much worse.

However, like many times in her life, she was proven wrong when she scuttled around a corner, blinking rapidly at this new road when she saw them. Four men leaning against a wall, puffing on little white sticks she had seen many muggles do, laughing and eyeing the crowd that swarmed passed them. Merope was a lot of things, many unpleasurable, but she was not unobservant. She had seen men like them before. Seen the way their eyes tracked shiny trinkets and dangling purses. Seen them prowl and split, only to regain formation again around their victim. She knew what they thought, knew what happened and knew what came next. There had been many of their kind back home, too many until it was the main thought when a muggle was brought up. In a way, it only fuelled and solidified what her father had taught her about muggles.

So, when she tried to get by unnoticed, shoulders slumped, suitcase held in front of her like a shield, purse hidden from view and their eyes clocked hers, their blackened teeth grins growing, Merope did what she did best. She ran. Dashing into the crowd, she had no thought of where to go, no thought of asking for help, no other thought but to get away. When they followed, Merope didn't think twice when her pace picked up and she took a sharp right around a corner road, another right around a large building with sturdy glass windows and bolted for the door, yanking it open with more force she didn't think her thin body housed, slid in and resoundingly slammed the door shut behind her. Watching with wide eyes through the frosted glass door, she could see their silhouettes appear. Her heart froze, her breath clumped and with a nerve firing moment, she stayed completely still, hand still resting on the door handle.

The silhouettes carried on, bleeding into bleached grey and finally she could breathe and move again. Her head flopped against the door, clinking against the glass as her eyes rolled shut. She had to mentally urge her fingers to pry themselves from the cold brass door knob as she sagged against the door, breath coming fast and hot against the cool glass pressed against her forehead.

"Excuse me miss but we're shut until six."

Her muscles automatically seized, her eyes slamming open, pupils dilating before she sprang around, world spinning around her as she flipped, pressing her back to the glass and away from being exposed to the distinctly male voice that had reverberated from behind her, suitcase dropping to the floor with a thud in her haste and shot nerves. The room or house she was in was very strange indeed. She seemed to be in a very small hallway, three steps across if that, that led into a wide open space filled with tables and chairs clustered in pairs and groups. In the corner of the room, on the right-hand side stood a long table that looked to be attached to the floor topped with the same brass from the door knob. Behind this strange piece of furniture were shelves holding bottles upon bottles of multicoloured liquids. Did muggles have their own types of potions?

However, all mundane questions were swept away from her mind like cobwebs in a hailstorm when she spotted the man with the voice. He stood innocently in the middle of this spacious room, white apron on top of pressed slacks and a grey button up, hair left unslicked, broom paused mid sweep against the unglossed hardwood flooring. He... He was smiling at her, big and true and without a hint of mocking or malice. Merope panicked.

"I'm sorry. I'll go."

Her limbs were obnoxiously uncoordinated as she scrambled for the door knob, missing a few times as she kicked over and stumbled against the suitcase lying at her feet, grimacing as she hoped she hadn't damaged any of Harry's belongings. Would Harry get mad? The same time she stumbled against the wall, nearly loosing her balance in her frantic haste to wrench the door open and run, the man whose smile had splintered dropped his broom, making her jump when it thunked against the floor, jogging for her but thankfully stopping a foot away. She didn't know what she would do if he came too close while she didn't have anywhere to run to.

"Aye love, It's alright... Calm down, just gave me a bit of a fright the way you came rushing in here in a flurry of skirts. Are you alright miss? You're looking a bit peaky. Why don't you come in, take a breather, sit down for a bit and I'll fetch you a drink? Free of charge?"

Her hand shook against the doorknob, her eyes flickering up to meet his, her heart stalling its gallop when he smiled brightly at her, drew back and over to a table and chairs, pulled one out slowly and strolled over to the oddest table she had ever seen, slipping behind it as he pulled out a clean glass from what looked like underneath the table. Swallowing reflexively, against the screaming in her mind to run, Merope's hand slipped away from the door handle and she found her feet moving by themselves, taking her to the open chair. The wood creaked as her weight pushed into it, her eyes couldn't choose between staring at the table or the man pouring water into a glass. She jumped once more when the glass was put in front of her, her hands jolting to wind her shawl closer around her, her hair falling over her shoulder and blocking half the room from her vision, but unfortunately not the man who was still smiling so brightly at her of all things, and seating himself down in the chair opposite her.

"What are you doing around here then? Not from around these parts are you? Not with that accent."

Merope didn't know what to say, what to do, whether to bolt or stay seated. Instead, she chose to reach out for the water, picking it up with both shaking hands and bringing it to her parched lips, gulping down the cool liquid, licking her chapped lips. Each time she opened her mouth to say something and nothing came out, she pretended to go for another drink, embarrassed as she was watched by the jovial man in front of her. Was this how you found a house? Was it this simple?

"No, I'm not from around here. Me and my sister... We're on a trip. Just arrived today. You... You don't happen to have a place we can rent, do you?"

Finally, the man's smile broke and fell away and so did Merope's heart. She had thought... Wasn't this... Why did he have so many tables and chairs if it weren't a house you can rent? Where many people could live? Did he just collect them? What an odd, odd man and Merope would admit that was coming from someone like her. However, shame and embarrassment pounded her like autumn rain as he ran a hand through his hair, eyes breaking from her form as her stomach dropped to the soles of her feet. No. Of course she had it wrong, she always did. Why did she even try any more?

"Well, the thing is I do but this is no place for people like yourself, nor a younger sister. You seem very sweet you do, shy too, too shy and sweet for a place like this. If your sister is anything like you, you'll be eaten alive. No, sorry, best you find somewhere else."

Merope gave a stilted nod, relinquishing her hold on the glass of water as she made for the door, planning a quick escape from both the flustered man and her self-derision of having failed at something once again. Though, as her hand braced against the door frame of the inner door leading to the one that opened to the outside world, she stiffened, boot half raised in step.

The men from outside were no new thing to her, she had seen them before, had dealt with them before, had grown up in a cess pool of them. Harry... Friendly, beautiful and compassionate Harry had not. Eaten alive would be exactly what would happen to the red-head. She couldn't let that happen. Harry had done so much for her in such a short amount of time, too much, the most anyone had ever done for her in her whole life. She wouldn't let that slide passed unpaid. This was an adventure Harry had told her, a chance at new beginnings and a happy family. And what? Because of her, Harry would be sleeping in the cold, damp and dangerous streets?

No.

Sisters protected one another. That's what they did. Harry was her sister, or would be, is, was, could be? It didn't matter. Sisters looked out for one another. She could do this. She could. No. That was wrong too. There was no could about it, she would. Her boot landed on the floor with a muted thud as her spine stiffened and she slowly turned around, marching over to the table she had just vacated, bracing both hands against the wood as she squarely, the first time in her life, stared at the man head on, no hair curtain to protect her, no averted eyes. Harry had given her the answer just this morning. Don't think. Just do.

"No. You say you have a room? We'll take it. I'm good at cleaning you see, real good. You don't have help around here, do you? Or you wouldn't be sweeping the floor yourself. You obviously need it, I can see dust lining those shelves from all the way over here. What's going to happen is this, we rent the room and in payment, I'll work four days a week."

The man roamed her with his eyes, from the tips of her toes to the last lock on her head. Her will didn't lesson, she never pulled away, not one inch as she bared down upon him. Then, against all the odds, the man smiled at her once more.

"Five days, no pay for the work and a dance and you have yourself a deal."

Her cheeks hurt by how widely she smiled, pulling away from the table, practically bouncing on her feet in excitement. She had done it! The added dance in the deal meant nothing at the moment, not when she felt so fantastic. She couldn't wait to tell Harry.

"My name's Merope Gaunt and you have a deal."

Remembering her manners last second, Merope sharply jutted her hand out, fingers bone straight. The man stood, more slowly reaching out to clasp her hand in a warm palm and calloused fingers, shaking up and down three times before Merope pulled her hand away from the welcoming heat.

"Harry Fenton."

Merope could only watch as he went over to the front door, bending down to pick up Harry's... Her Harry's suitcase. This was going to get confusing. She was blurting out before she could quell her tongue.

"Can I call you Fenton? My sister's name is Harry, well, Harriet but she likes to be called Harry..."

Luckily the man, Fenton, didn't seem to mind her rambling as he gave her a blessed chuckle and nod, his hair flopping into his eyes as he carried the suitcase over to a door in the very back of the room Merope had not noticed until that point. He opened it with a twist of the wrist and a sweep of his long arm, jerking his head back into the open space in invitation.

"It's a good name that's why, call me whatever you want. Let me show you the room, it's only one bed and a bit on the rough side but I'm sure it'll be as good as any you will find around here with a bit of love and care. This way Miss Gaunt."

Merope never noticed her smile didn't wane for a single second since it had bloomed, growing so bright and big, the biggest she had ever smiled before, as she walked over to follow Fenton up the staircase in the room he had just opened up. She never once stuttered. She never once tried to hide behind her hair. She never once stumbled. She didn't reach for her shawl. Her shoulders didn't cave. As the door closed behind the pair, the two chatting amicably, if not a bit disjointed in places, Merope had never felt so good before.

* * *

 _Harry's P.O.V_

Harry had been walking for an hour straight and was utterly, completely, absolutely lost. Every alley looked the same, every road led to another, twist and turns that took her in complete circles. However, hope was on the horizon as she passed a rusting sign dangling off a brick wall that simply stated Singers Hill. She had no idea where that was or what it had to do with actually finding a place she could buy food from, but it was new and that had to mean her wandering would soon be over right? Harry sighed and rubbed tiredly at her eyes. Merlin, she hoped she was right.

To be completely frank, she was feeling rather disappointed and upset with herself. If she had have been in the wizarding world she would have known where to go, what to do and everything in between. It was simple there, she knew the rules, she had grown up in it. However, irrevocably faced with the muggle world and finding herself completely lacking in knowledge, basic knowledge of where the fuck to find food showed her the truth. She didn't know or understand the world her mother came from. Half of her parentage, lineage, half her ancestral line was completely unknown. And in so, she didn't understand her mother, for how could she if she didn't understand where she had come from, how she lived until she was eleven and then half the year onwards? It was a blow to be sure. She knew so much about her father, his life, his world, yet knew next to nothing about her mother. What did that say about her?

Taking a breather, Harry paused and lent up against an iron railing that encased a rather impressive building, folding her arms over her chest and crossing her legs at the ankles as she relaxed and surveyed the foreign territory around her. When in doubt, watch. That was a nugget of gold Mad-eye had given her before his untimely but inevitable death.

However, there wasn't much to watch but passers-by going about their daily business. Well, that was true until a lady in her older years, weighed down by the wicker baskets and paper bags she carried, sixty at the youngest, sloothed just passed her vantage point from the other side of the road... Or mud path. She was a little thing and that was ironic coming from someone's of Harry's stature, drapped in worn but warm clothing, white hair wrapped in a faded headscarf, laugh lines and merry crows feet marring her obviously once beautiful face.

In a way it was still beautiful, the lines and wrinkles showed a life lived, a happy one by the looks of it. She wondered if her mother would look like that, if her face would tell the same story. However, her eyes were diverted from the woman from across the road when three men, flat caps shielding darkened eyes began to gain speed on her, circling like vultures. You didn't live through the war Harry had without being able to spot the bad seed in an apple from a mile off and these people, they smelled rancid.

Harry knew what would come next, but just as she had tensed, kicking off the railing and began running for the woman full pelt, the men acted. One, the tallest of the little group, pushed the old ladies shoulder harshly, another, the smallest, snatched what looked to be the ladies satchel... The place where she would keep her money. The third, however, just for good measure to be sure, as the lady tumbled to the ground, hitting the pavement harshly, threw a kick into the mix. The three were laughing and running just as Harry skidded to a stop in front of the fallen lady.

Harry waisted no time, pushing the spilling bags away from the woman, she wrapped an arm around her torso and as gently as she could, dragged her to the brick wall to lean her back against as the woman groaned in pain. Glancing over her form with quick and alert eyes, partially due to her war efforts and the year she spent in Auror training before she dreamed up this merlin damned plan, she noticed nothing was wrong. No blood, no cuts, no dislocations. Bruises would follow, she would ache badly but she would live. Resting her hand on the woman's cheek, she finally made eye contact with Harry. Harry smiled pleasantly, calmly and spoke in hushed but reassuring tones that would hopefully ease the poor elderly woman that had just gotten mugged.

"Stay right here, don't move. I'll be right back."

The lady didn't have time to speak or question as Harry had already straightened and ran in the direction she had seen the men take. She found them when she rounded the corner, the biggest and medium one taking a right in the fork road as the smallest took the left. it was the smallest one that had taken the bag so when she reached the fork herself, pushing people out of her way, feet pounding though her heart was calm, Harry diverted to the left too. Luckily he wasn't a fast runner, nor was he expecting to be caught or chased after as his pace began to slow, laughter bubbling up and echoing through the chill air. He wasn't laughing long, not when Harry's arms wrapped around his torso and she sent both him and herself sailing into an alley way, the bag dropping from his hand and skidding further down the dead end.

Slow the man may be, a complete bastard too for stealing from an old lady, but a fighter he was Harry found out as his fist swung back as far as it could and connected with her cheek, knocking her off him and into the ground bellow them. Harry could feel the split in her skin, the bruise already tingling and the faintest trickle of blood. However, he didn't knock her too far and with a bit of a dizzying moment of regaining her bearings, she swung her elbow back and clocked the fucker in the throat, nearly grinning as she heard him cough and hack, unable to breathe as she dug her elbow further into his windpipe. And just for good measure, for the fucking state he had put her cheek in, Harry kept her elbow in place, but squatted up, rearing her other fist back and solidly connecting it to his nose, hearing the crunch and tear of tendon and bone. Fucker deserved it. She only let him up when he started choking on his own blood and began going blue in the face.

He scrambled up, cradling his broken nose, awkwardly picking up his hat that must have fallen down in the tackle and pointed an accusatory finger towards her, backing out of the alley way in slippery slides, nearly loosing his balance and toppling over in places. Harry found the whole thing quiet hilarious until he spoke, spittle and blood flying, his words slurred and confusing yet setting dread into her pumping veins. What had she started and gotten herself into now?

"You fucking bitch! You'll pay, you'll see. No one fucks with a Peaky blinder and gets away with it. Wait until boss hears about this, He'll gauge your god-damned eyes out! Just you fucking wait!"

Then he was gone, floundering down the road as if he had one too many whiskeys that day. Harry only sighed as she stood up, dusting her hands off on her ruined skirt, looking around her for the item that had gotten her into this mess in the first place. Who was she kidding? It was her bloody Hero complex that had done that since she was eleven. Finding the bag, Harry crouched and picked it up and began to walk back the way she had run, the man nowhere in sight. She would deal with the threat later when she didn't have a bag to return and Merope to get back to.

She didn't know whether it was the adrenaline rush that had made her running seem so short, but the walk back felt like it took forever, especially with the pulse of pain emanating from her cheekbone, splintering out into her eye, promising a headache in her near future. She didn't rightly care, not when she found the woman in the same spot she had left her, only now sitting up against the brickwork with her bags neatly stacked next to her. Still, Harry's teeth ground when she saw the people walk passed, not even glancing her way. What was wrong with some people?

When Harry came into the ladies sight, she smiled only for it to crumble as her eyes locked onto Harry's cheek and mud-caked clothing, her voice filled with warmth like a shot of fire-whiskey. Her hand reached out, shaking with gnarled and knotted knuckles, fingers more like claws then hands.

"Oh, you poor thing! Are you in pain? Do you need to sit?"

Harry chuckled, dimples flashing as she crouched next to the old lady, dropping the bag into the woman's lap as she felt the woman's twitching fingers ghost across her swelling cheek.

"Shouldn't I be asking you those questions? I'm fine, truly. Are you? Do you want me to get a doctor? Do you have anybody I could Cal-... Find?"

The woman shook her head, eyes still lingering on the cut on Harry's face.

"Nothing these old bones can't handle. Thank you. Really. Not many Gentiles would do such a thing."

The old lady smiled, her teeth slightly wonky on the bottom row with one missing from the back, she heaved as she pulled her bag on, hands planting themselves onto the pavement as she began to push herself to stand. Harry reacted on instinct, pushing back her bewilderment of what the hell was a gentile, wrapping an arm around her waist to take the brunt of the weight, only letting go when the woman seemed stable on her feet and began to bend to pick up the bags and wicker basket. Harry beat her to the goal, silently and wandlessly casting a weightless charm. It would do her no good to cast a spell in the full view of the public, even in the alley way with that man, people had wandered passed. No. That was just asking for a witch hunt. Literally.

"Leave them, I can carry those. You've taken quiet a fall."

To put on a show, a very muggle show, Harry pretended to strain a little with the bags, not enough to guilt the lady but enough so she wouldn't question why she was juggling them around like air balloons. Harry felt before she saw the old woman as she gently patted her face in affection, luckily the side of her face that wasn't aching terribly, her hand lingering there for a few split seconds.

"You're a good girl with a heart of gold. A real Bubala if I ever did see one."

Okay, she was sure muggles weren't as confusing in her time as they seemed to be in the past. When they had been on speaking terms and alive, Hermione's parents had loved her. Now it seemed she would be lucky if she understood every forth word spoken.

"A bubala? Should I be offended?

It looked to be an unspoken agreement that Harry would walk the old lady to her home when they both began walking down the road, the way the lady had been heading before this whole horrid mishap. Harry let her lead but made sure to stick close encase she was actually worse off than Harry had originally thought. The woman's tap, tap, tap of sturdy heels against concrete was oddly soothing.

"A bubala is a darling. You're not from around here are you? Have you come from London? Oh, don't look at me like that, you don't get to my age without an ounce of smarts and a bit of luck. You do realize... You do know I am Jewish?"

Harry faltered in her step. Of course, she had heard of Judaism before, but not much, not much of anything not involving the wizarding world in fact. It was, she thought, a religion, though, wasn't it? Was religion to muggles as blood purity was to wizardry kind? By the woman's quickly falling face, she hazard that was a yes. So, in this strange world she now found herself in, people would expect her to be turned off by religion? That she would regret what she did because of someone's beliefs in afterlife's and gods? They had another thing coming. A person's religion didn't make them, their actions did and so far, this little old lady was nothing short of a bright soul. Still, a nagging voice in the back of Harry's mind rang like a siren. Religious people hated her kind the most. Harry purposely picked her up the pace slightly when they began to slow, looking back at the lady with a smile and a cheeky wink.

"Is that meant to mean anything to me? You have a heartbeat, don't you? You have thoughts and Feelings? You're human, just like the rest of us."

The old lady chuckled and patted Harry's shoulder, her smile reappearing on her face, brighter and less worried etched than before. Harry felt relieved by the twinkle in her eye. It just didn't sit right in her gut when the woman became anything but happy. Though, yet again, that may be down to her ever present hero complex.

"As I've said, a right Bubala. What are you doing down these parts anyway? Not many venture down here."

Harry carried on walking straight when the old ladies hand came up to wrap around her bicep, gently tugging her to turn down a small, narrow road with buildings that looked like they had been squished together, tall and thin. Though the road was small there seemed to be an oppressive nature about it. The buildings towered over you, too many to count, lining each side. There wasn't a single paving stone in sight, trodden paths from doorstep to doorstep. Harry supposed the sky didn't help, there was no lamppost in sight and the sun was sinking... If you could have seen the sun through the clouds in the first place.

"You see it's my first day here, you got that right, just came down from London with my older sister. I was looking for a grocery shop or a bakery but had no luck and ended up getting lost."

The woman stuttered to a stop in front of one of the imposing buildings, this one different from all the rest, a plaque nailed above the top of the chipped door, the writing foreign but elegant, like something Harry would have seen in an arithmancy lesson. The building held one window, barely a window at that, but the same writing that was on the plaque was painted in bold and golden lettering across the glass. The woman's laughter pulled her out from her pondering and wandering gaze.

"Well, you're in luck I must say. I own a bakery, this is it."

Harry watched as she swept an arm out, her hand flapping towards the building Harry had been gazing at. The old lady didn't stay still for long, digging a hand into her bag to pull out a comically big, rusted key as she toddled to the door, jamming it home and twisting the door open, disappearing into the depths. Harry took a sweeping scan of the empty road before she bolstered up and followed the lady. What could possibly go wrong?

Harry came into the hallway just after the woman had switched on the lights, a gas lamp in her hand as she too lit that up for extra light in the falling darkness. There was a large room, bare-floored but cosy with its warm woods, a staircase pushed up into a corner, likely leading to a bedroom and bathroom. In four rows in the middle of the room was metal shelving, all housing bread and pastry goods of all kinds, kinds Harry had never seen before. At the very back, farthest away from the window was a glass cabinet, just in front a door that led to a back room, the height just brushing Harry's waist, a till perched on top in a skewiff angle, a single set of a table and two chairs by its side, home knitted doilies and table clothe decorating it.

"Come in, come in! Take a seat, warm up, you're more than welcome in this house."

When Harry took her first steps into the cavernous room despite the narrow looking building, closing the door behind her with a backwards kick, the smell hit her, making her suck in a gulp of air through her nose, holding the smell in her nostrils, savouring it. Poppy seed, warm bread, buttered pastry, fruity smells drifted around her. Merlin, it all smelled wonderful but unfortunately reminded her of how hungry she was. Harry had just reached the table and was about to pull a chair out when she remembered her hands were full.

"Where do you want these miss?"

Harry asked as she held up the bags and wicker basket in question, jiggling them slightly. The woman waved her hand dismissively in front of her face as if blowing away a bad smell.

"Just put them down anywhere Bubala. Come, sit down, have something to eat and drink. All on the house."

Harry gave a distracted nod as she still looked around her, mindlessly putting the bags and basket down in front of the counter, finally taking a seat as the old lady disappeared into the back room. However, she wasn't gone long as she came out with plates, piling them onto the table only to go back into the back room to bring out more, her third time of doing this she instead brought out a silver platter, an old chipped tea pot, two cups, milk jug and sugar jar precariously balancing as she put the set smack bang in the middle of the table. The old lady sat down in the opposite chair, comfy things with worn velvet plush, reaching for the tea pot and two cups, hands shaking violently as she lifted the heavy tea pot, nearly splashing the table and ensemble of delicious looking goods with steaming tea, herself included. Harry jolted into action, grabbing the pot and softly prying it away from the woman, sending a smile as she filled the two cups.

"Here, let me. Thank you, honestly, you didn't have to do this. I didn't do all that much-"

The old lady cut her off, stern expression and onyx eyes fixed on Harry. Harry wasn't afraid to admit she nearly swallowed her tongue, shrinking back like a child who had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"Bupkes! You have done more for me than any other person in a long time since I came to this country from Russia. Now, no arguments, eat. You're much too small, need to put some meat on those bones."

Harry chuckled, gingerly picking up a triangular... Biscuit? That seemed to be filled with a jam of some sort. The older woman seemed to approve of her choice by her upturned nose and secret smile.

"That's called Hamantaschen. Always were one of my favourites."

Harry took a delicate bite, groaning when orange and honey hit her tongue, going in for an even bigger bite once she swallowed, washing it all down with a good sip of hot tea.

"These are delicious! So, how long have you been here?"

Harry tried to be polite, even starting a conversation, she really did, but she couldn't help polishing off the biscuit and reaching for another. The old lady didn't seem to mind by the pleasant grin she threw Harry's way, pushing the plate further across the table and towards Harry. If all these tasted like this... Hamantaschen, she really was going to put meat on her bones, just not in the right places.

"That's because it's all Kosher. Do you mean in Birmingham or England? I've been in England for just over thirty years now. Though, I originally lived in London myself too, Camden, do you know it? It's a bit off the beaten track so I don't suppose you will. My nephew still lives there you know. Good boy he is, like you, a heart of gold under all the bravado and sarcasm. Here, I'll pack some of this up for you to take home. It's getting late and a pretty girl like you shouldn't be on the street when the moons up. I'm sorry, my mind gets away with me sometimes, what's your name?"

Harry finished her last biscuit and drank the rest of her tea quickly before speaking. Seemingly out of nowhere, like a magic trick, the woman pulled out a plain paper bag, sliding plates to the rim and letting the biscuits, cakes and breads topple in. Harry opened her mouth to argue but by the glare thrown at her, wisely shut her mouth, changing tactic.

"Harriet but just Harry is fine. What's yours?"

Once the bag was filled, the old lady rolled down the rim, closing it as far as the stuffed bag allowed her too, standing as Harry stood, handing the bag over to the flustered red-head. She hadn't done what she had done to get payment of some kind, she had done it because it was the right thing to do. However, when the old lady patted her cheek once more, twinkle back in her eye, Harry couldn't help but smile back. It was like looking at a person that housed all of Dumbledore's good points but none of his bad.

"Rania, but you... You can call me Bubbe."

Harry nodded, balancing the bag in one arm to reach down to her own purse, digging the fingers in to pull out the gold coins housed there only to yelp as Bubbe's hand smashed hers away from the purse.

"None of that, we were getting along so well. Don't ruin that now."

The guilt hit Harry when she looked around. While the house was surprisingly open, well furnished and warm, if you looked closely you could see the hints of the poverty. The chipped tea set, the cracked glass of the cabinet, the slight tilt of the metal shelving. Harry couldn't possibly make off with a good amount of her baking without nothing in return. It didn't feel right. Bubbe had just nearly gotten mugged too, she couldn't afford just to give away her lively-hood.

"I can't just take your goods, I wouldn't be able to sleep. Please, take at least a few shillings, a guinea or two."

Bubbe smiled crookedly, her bent fingers fiddling with the edge of her dangling head scarf.

"I'll tell you what, come back tomorrow at noon and you can help me role out the doughs. In exchange, you can have all the baked goods you want."

Harry reached once more for her purse, this time snatching it from her belt, uncaring if she tore her belt or the purse.

"Surely that can't be all I can offer. If you're worried, don't be. I have more than enough to pay-"

Bubbe reached over and pushed her hands, which was still holding her purse, into Harry's chest, slowly shaking her head in the negative.

"At my age Bubala, good company and better help is all we can ask for. You see my hands don't you? They aren't what they used to be, in fact, you'll be doing me another favour by helping me here. This bakery is all I have left, I don't know what I would do if I had to give it up. What do you say?"

Harry searched her eyes, dark and glittering with hope. It was obvious by the street urchins and the poor state of this place jobs were hard to come by, practically mythical. Plus, it would help her blend into the populace, stem any questions that popped up about her money but lack of income. While Merope was her main worry, her main reason for being here, Harry had to accept the fact she was never going back home, back to her home time. She would live the rest of her days, numbered or long, in this place, she needed to build a life here. What better way to start that then having a job? And if worst came to worse, Merope could tag along. Bubbe was the type of person Harry wanted Merope around, warm and gentle, true and honest, a good person that could show Merope the world wasn't all beatings and fright. Finally, after a long pause, Harry slid her purse back onto her belt and gave a nod.

"Tomorrow noon it is Bubbe. Stay safe now, lock the doors after I've left. Are you sure you are going to be fine?"

Bubbe laughed, ushering her to the door of the bakery.

"Yes, yes. I still have some fight in me yet, a little fall isn't going to take me out."

With a quick goodbye and a promise of tomorrow, Harry left the bakery in a high mood, missing the way Bubbe stared after her, a joyous look pulling at her eyes and lips like strings were attached, missing Bubbe's whispered voice.

"Just like my nephew that one, bloodied knuckles and spitting like a viper but a kind soul buried deep."

* * *

Harry could hear Merope's breathes from beside her, even and calm, almost like she was sleeping. Harry would have thought so, if only Merope didn't toss or turn every five minutes, unfortunately jostling Harry awake every time she was about to slip into much-needed slumber. They would have to get another bed, this one, though large in size, would just not going to cut it if Harry ever hoped of having a full nights rest. It didn't help that Merope and she were freshly washed and in thin cotton shifts, Merope not wanting to dry her hair with a spell before bed, so Harry was being whipped with the wet locks every time she rolled.

She had met back up with Merope with seconds to spare back at the station. Harry had barely said Hello before Merope had practically jumped on her, dragging her to a pub of all things. Merope was bursting at the seems, smile humongous and filled with fizzing excitement, so much so Harry found it was infectious. When she had met Fenton, the man who would be their landlord, Harry had a small inkling of why Merope was so happy. After all, the two could barely keep their eyes from straying to each other when they thought no one was watching. The problem was, Harry always watched.

The two had dragged her to the upstairs flat, Fenton leaving to give them some space and Harry saw where they would be calling home until they left... If they left. It was two rooms, a bedroom/living room/bathroom with a little offshoot of a room that could be called a kitchen if looked upon in dark lighting. There was an old coal-stained fireplace, a rickety bed, a torn rug, a stained and queasy looking tin bath tub and a stove that looked more likely to blow your face off than actually cook something. However, when Merope had looked at her so hopeful, so proud, Harry couldn't do anything but join in saying Merope had found an amazing place.

Harry had gone around, casting a spell here and there to make the place clean, or at least habitual, as Merope sat on the bed, resting after Harry had urged her that she could handle the cleaning. It was at this time Merope's excitement seemingly fell and she finally saw the state of Harry's clothing and her cheek. Oddly enough, despite what Harry thought Merope would do, brush off the whole thing, Merope had hovered around her, questioning if she was okay, if she wanted a drink and a sit-down, asking, demanding to know what had happened. So, in a switch, it was actually Harry who tried to brush it all off, giving Merope a condensed version of what had happened, skipping out the men for an epic fall due to clumsiness. She only got Merope off her back with an offer of a warm bath. She regretted that when it took two hours to try filling the monstrous but now thankfully clean tub with boiling pots of water, only for Harry to give up on the second chime of the clock and filled and heated it magically, despite feeling tired and exhausted.

When the moon had reached its peak, now fresh and in nightclothes, fireplace lit cosily, full bellied, the two had retired to the bed and Harry found a new appreciation for the place. Now with the thick layer of dust gone, it reminded her of the little sleepy holes above the leaky cauldron and she was hit with a shot of nostalgia. She couldn't magically change too much, not if Fenton would come in and check, he would wonder how the hell they had done it and it would rise pointless questions. Questions best not asked.

Harry's eyes were just drifting shut once again when Merope flopped onto her back, one of her arms nearly winding Harry in the process. Fuck it, she was enlarging this bed tomorrow, Fenton or exposure be damned. Although, this time was different as Merope's voice joined her movement.

"I can't dance."

Sighing, Harry rolled onto her back too, staring up at the ceiling as she questioned what that had to do with anything. Her cheek still hurt but she couldn't heal it. Muggles had seen her with it, if they saw her tomorrow with it gone they would wonder how. Harry wanted to rub her eyes. Living with muggles was a lot harder than she had given it credit. Every action had to be questioned, planned, picked apart and put unassumingly back together again. What was that old saying? The world was a stage and by Merlin did she feel like an actor.

"What do you mean Merry?"

Silence fell for a while and Harry had thought Merope had finally gone to sleep until her voice cracked the fragile peace.

"I can't dance. Harry... Fenton asked me to dance but I can't..."

Unwarranted, a smile grew on Harry's face. It was times like these she remembered why she was here, what she was supposed to be doing. She was here for Merope, here to right their world that had gone so horribly wrong. Merope, despite her exterior and lack of anything to do with being social, was like any other person. She had hopes and dreams, she had failings and worries, she had problems but also talents. It was up to Harry to tend to those good parts. And from her brief but appraising meeting with Fenton, she could tell he was a good man. Merope needed someone like that in her life, maybe not for love or romance if it didn't work out, but as a friend, sure. If Merope was going to open up, she needed more than just Harry to lean on and talk to.

Without much hesitation, Harry jumped out of bed despite her tiredness, scrambling over Merope to drop onto the hardwood flooring, purposefully missing the board with the huge crack in it. Twirling around, the hem of her night-shift brushing the tops of her knee's, Harry put one hand behind her back and held her other out for a wide-eyed Merope to grab.

"Come on then, no time like the present to learn. I'm not the best, actually, scrap that, I'm shite at dancing but I know the basics. Come one, up, up, up! If you step on his toe, just blame him."

Cautiously, Merope grasped Harry's offered hand, yelp turning into a chuckle as Harry heaved her up and into her arms. Placing the hands in the right places, Harry taking up the men's role, the two began to slowly waltz around the room, Harry brokenly humming as she went, movements filled with stumbles, skids and near misses but equally filled with smiles and laughter as they danced in the dim light. Soon the dance broke down to fast twirls and reckless movements, totally losing rhythm and rhyme, though the laughter escalated, especially when Harry nearly fell into the fireplace after a rather poor interpretation of a ballerina, hair flipping around her, breathless from laughter.

In that dingy room, alone and shaded in shadows, above a pub in a strange city, all worries were thankfully lost for a while. Two people who had hard lives, lives that would make weaker men crumble, two people who always had to plan ahead, think of other people, push up that growing hill that was life with a boulders attached to their backs let everything go and simply lived in the moment, no thought of tomorrow or the day after present.

Two women who were totally unaware of what daybreak would bring in the form of a man with sky blue eyes and a debt to settle, a man in a dusty black coat and a flat cap that housed hidden razor blades. But that was daybreak, under moonlight, free and unbound, the two danced.

* * *

 **Next Chapter:** _Lie's are told that lead to a confrontation, The Shelby's finally make an appearance and Harry loses her temper..._

 **A.N:** Hello again. First off, I would like to say a thank you to all those that followed and favourited, I hoped you enjoyed this chapter and where this fic is heading. To all those who reviewed, I send you a huge Thank you and a cyber hug! You guys are the best.

On the topic of reviews, I know I said the voting would stop on the 14th, but as I've put this chapter up a day early, I'm drawing it out until next Friday, so voting ends on the 21st October. So far I can give you these numbers.

Tommy/Harry- 2

Alfie/Harry- 3

Alfie/Harry/Tommy-5

So, no other pairing has been put forward and at the moment, Alfie/Harry/Tom is in the lead. If that is not the pairing you want to see or if you have your own suggestion for a pairing, **please drop it in a review or P.M. Voting really does stop next week.** Thank you to all those who voted.

Also, quick question, should I pair Merope up with someone, if so, who?

As for this chapter, the character of Bubbe was actually based on my step-grandmother. (I know, that's weird already.) I have a very varied family. My grandmother was an English protestant who married an Irish Catholic, they got divorced after having my mother and Aunt which was odd for the time, eventually, they both remarried. My grandfather Thomas married a French Jewish woman called Rania Solomon (Yes, she had the same last name as Alfie, I and my mother had a laugh about that) and my grandmother Elizabeth married a Hindu man, Rayansh Verma, who had my other Aunt. This happened before I was born. So, growing up I was surrounded by various backgrounds and multiple holidays. From Diwali, good Friday to Hanukkah. While I don't know a lot about Judaism, as myself aren't Jewish, I do know a little from my grandmother, or Bubbe as I used to call her ( Grandmother in Yiddish) and she called me Bubala which means darling. She was a big part of my life, sadly she's gone now, so I couldn't stop myself from adding a bit of her into this. Plus, you know what they say, write what you know.

Why am I telling you all this? So while I may add in Jewish traditions, sayings or practices, please excuse any mistakes I make as I only know the very basics of a deep and rich history of old traditions.

Well, that's all for now, please drop a review, they feed the muse. And please, please, please vote. Be it in P.M, review or homing pigeon. Until next time, stay beautiful! -AlwaysEatTheRude21


	3. Pride Before A Fall

_~Early In The Morning ~_

 _~Watery Lane~_

Dylan, a tall man with robust patience but lack of intelligence, studiously stood at the office door, his uncertainty filled eyes flickering between his two compadres loitering in the boxed room and out the door, taking in the goings on of the underground betting shop, watching, waiting for that a poignant head of hair to pass into vision, nervously chewing sloppily on his thumbnail, saliva dribbling down his chin.

Lyle, the middle man of the rag-tag group was a man of very few things. A man that was candidly neither here nor there. A man one would forget as soon as pupils passed over his mundane form. A sheep for all intents and purposes. He was plain in looks, un-note worthy in mannerism and void of anything that made him stand out from the many others that roamed the streets. Lyle was a man among many that the history books would not house in its numerous pages. Lyle stood in the corner of the room near the open window, staring pointedly at the opposite wall, fiddling with a cuff tear in his old shirt.

Fredrick, or Rick as he was known amongst those he worked with, was the one who made up for the lack of his colleagues. A short man, high-strung temper with a penchant for fire and explosives was what drew the eyes of the Peaky Blinders in the first place. Rick didn't do his... Job because it paid well, he didn't do it because he feared what the Shelby's would do to him in retribution if he should decline one day. He did it because he liked it. He liked the extra attention it brought him when those two words passed his lips, he liked the recognition when people realized what he was a part of, he adored the fear that would glittered in their eyes when they thought they had snubbed him. For a man like Fredrick, it played well to his overfed and undeserving pride.

However, he wasn't laughing now. He wasn't glowing. He wasn't getting pissed at the local pub, boasting of his latest antics or who he was. No, he was sitting in an old chair at a desk, brow heavy on his eyes as he scowled and snarled at the empty chair in front of him, waiting just like the other two were. Wincing and huffing like a pig when his nose flared up in pain, the remnants of blood still on his top lip, his eyes and nose swollen, nose sitting unnaturally on his face, a large and oozing cut from ripped skin from a shard of dislodged bone cutting across his bridge in a jagged line, the home stitches did nothing to repair the damage. That bitch had scarred him, had marred him. Him.

Although, eyes glancing to Dylan at the door before zapping to Lyle at the wall, they did not know it was a her that had done the deed. God forbid. No, and neither would Mr. Shelby. He wanted revenge, needed it, his bruised sense of worth demanding just that, but he wasn't willing to further damage his aching ego by admitting to anyone that it was a five-foot fuck all woman that had put him in this state.

He had told his two friends, if you could use the term friends, it had been a renegade gypsy that had travelled into his... The Shelby's territory that had done this. A gypsy fucker who thought that by attacking him, the bastard could shove one home on the Shelby's and he, a loyal friend was willing to set the record straight on their behalf. He would be getting revenge and likely a boost up in the hierarchy from the big boys for his valiant efforts of protecting their name. It was a win-win situation. It all just balanced on which Shelby brother got to the office first.

The Shelby brothers, whichever came through the door first, hopefully the eldest, wouldn't question anything. Not one idle thought, it was no secret about the budding turmoil simmering under the surface, readying to pop when it came down to the Lee's and the Shelby's. Rick would use that to his advantage. He didn't have to worry about a war kicking off between the two, after all no gypsy's would be hurt. Just a sanctimonious red-headed bitch.

"Here's here! Ricky, he's here."

Ricky swivelled in his seat, looking towards the doorway, trying to fruitlessly straighten his face. Some days, most days, he was just one idiotic remark away from putting a bullet in both Lyle's and Dylan's heads. Of course, Dylan wouldn't elaborate on who he was, he didn't think there was a need to, but Rick knew there was dire need to know which Shelby you would be dealing with in situations. Your life could depend on it, especially when one was planning on deception.

Arthur was the easiest. A few right fraised words, a compliment threw in here and there and the oldest Shelby brother would eat out of the palm of your hand. Arthur was the Shelby brother Rick wanted walking through that door in moments. John, the youngest was slightly harder to get around, but if you knew him, had worked for him for a while which Fredrick had, he was just as easy to get around as his eldest sibling. If you bombarded him with information John would forget to question and simply agree to get you to shut the fuck up and leave. Thomas, or Tommy however...

He was the tricky bastard. He picked apart people's words as if they were frayed threads. He saw through lies like they were glass. He just seemed to know before even yourself knew what the hell you were doing. Rick fucking hated Tommy Shelby with a passion, but beggars can't be choosers and Tommy was one of the biggest paying entrepreneurs for men like him. So, he would wine and dine with the devil, for as long as it paid out for him.

Dylan scuttled away from the door, politely nodding his head as a tall man sauntered passed, iconic cap off and coat slung over his forearm... Black hair windswept and blue eyes zeroing in on Rick within seconds, cigarette perched between his lips. Fredrick was fucked. Of course it would be just his luck, the one time he was howling for blood, foaming at the mouth for it, it would be Thomas he would have to get through to get it. Where the hell was Arthur when you needed him?

"What do I owe the pleasure for lads?"

Rick turned back in his seat and pathetically sniffed, grimacing at the sharp twist of pain to his nose. He kept his eyes diverted from Tommy, even when his bored laced tone rang out, instead choosing to stare intently at the edge of the desk. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Tommy throw his coat over the back of his desk's chair, sitting primly down with a muted huff as he turned to face Rick. See? Tommy knew exactly who to turn to, who to question, who to observe without a single one of them uttering a word in return. When Rick didn't begin to speak, Tommy took it upon himself to speak for him. Rick really, really, despised the man.

"Let me guess, it has to do with that lump that somewhat resembles a nose?"

Dylan starting floundering at Tommy's brash remark, spittle flying from his mouth.

"It was this gypsy scum-bag boss, he-"

"Dylan!"

Rick cut across as he glared at the brick in human form. How stupid could you be to start insulting gypsies in the presence of one of the Shelby's? Let alone Tommy? While the Shelby's did everything to distance themselves from their heritage, it was no secret how fervently they disciplined anyone who thought they were big enough to take a shot at it or down talk to them about it. He wanted to leave this office with permission, not a Glasgow smile to go along with his already busted nose. Straightening out, Rick finally brought his gaze to Tommy, nervously pulling on his suit jacket lapels as he tried to salvage the situation.

"We were down Singer's hill Mr. Shelby. We were heading home, all good and that when we split for the night. One of the Lee's men jumped out at me on the way home, did this to my face, laughing and joking about how he got one over on a Peaky Blinder. Said it ought to give you boys a lesson..."

That was the way he was going to win this, to play on their image, to act like it was threatened. Tommy scanned him with his eyes, his cold, calculating chips of glacial ice. Slowly, Tommy crossed one leg over the other, folded his hands on his lap and locked eyes once more, raising one brow high on his forehead. Rick swallowed deeply.

"One man you say? Are you sure it was a Lee? Not their usual modus operandi... Fredrick, is it? No. They normally roam in groups those Lee boys."

Tommy drawled as he took a drag, plucking out the cigarette and flicking the ash into an ashtray at the edge of the desk. This is why he hated this man so much, loathed him to the marrow of his bones. Tommy, being around a man like that, it made you feel small, stupid, insignificant, lesser. Fredrick wasn't lesser. It was exactly how that bitch back in the alleyway had made him feel, only he had a shot of getting even with her, unlike Mr. Shelby. So, he would push down his pride, he would lock down on his hate and aim it at a target it could actually hit. The red-head. Rick's teeth ground together as he answered.

"It was dark Mr. Shelby, there could have been more. I'd had a few pints down at the pub you see, hence why he got the upper hand in the first place. Had I been in my right mind I-"

Tommy scoffed, moving his gaze to the wall as if Rick wasn't even worth the effort to look at. Rick's skin crawled with indignation, only rippling faster the longer Tommy spoke.

"In your right mind is right Fredrick. In your right mind, you wouldn't have gotten shit faced and a hook for a nose for nothing. In your right mind, you wouldn't be in this very office pissing and moaning. You come into my office, acting the victim, spinning yarns about dark alleys and scary Lee boys and expect me to what? Hold your hand and take you to the gypsies, talk to this man's mother, get him to say he's sorry? So everyone can kiss and make up? Is that it? How about you get to the matter here and stop wasting my time, I have a busy day and no time to play nanny to a bunch of grown men."

Ricks temper snapped, his fist slamming down onto the table with rattling force, breathing heavy from his mouth, red-faced and wobbly cheeked.

"Wasting time is anything but what I am doing... Mr. Shelby. They... The man purposely brought up your name, the Peaky Blinders name, he prodded something he shouldn't have. He's cocky. How long before word spreads? How long before more and more men think they can get away with doing this to a Peaky Blinder? How long before the words Peaky Blinder is nothing but mud? It just takes that one time, I'm telling you that. What I came here to ask is to set this man straight. To set the record straight. I was drunk that night, I won't be this time. Let me sort this out."

Tommy huffed, snubbing the red-tipped cigarette out in the metal tray, pushing to a stand as he undid the button of his blazer, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets as he glared down at Rick. However, this time, Rick didn't waver. He was going to get his pound of flesh even if he didn't have the backing of a Shelby, hell or high water, he promised himself that. But if he got the backing from a Shelby, he would have back up in the form of Dylan and Lyle, as useless as they were, there was strength in numbers and by god, he wanted the little bitch running scared.

"Don't pretend this is for me or the name. This is one simple thing. Revenge. Do not lie to me, Fredrick."

Rick's hand fell from the table but formed a tight fist in his lap, his teeth grinding faster, the tension cut-able as the two faced off. Then, a head popped in through the open door, Arthur's thick accent splintering the dense air around them.

"Oi, Tommy, some lads here about a shipment from the BSA? Said you might want to see this."

Tommy gave Rick one last scan before he cricked his neck, nodding towards Arthur as he began following Arthur out of the room, pausing in the doorway, waving a dismissive hand at the three men left, voice distracted and distant.

"Do you have a name?"

Rick itched his chin with blunt, jagged nails, bewildered by this question. The problem with a man like Fredrick was he believed he was more than he was. Smarter, faster, better... He was none. His blown ego didn't match the facts and that was what would be his downfall. From his own questioning around town, the little he had done, he had picked up a name and thankfully, it sounded like a lads, so Tommy would be none the wiser. Not seeing where this turn of questioning would land him or the person he was gunning for, or the harm it would cause, Rick gave up the information with a hopeful grumble.

"Harry Gaunt."

Tommy gave a stiff nod before beginning his walk away again, shouting his orders over his shoulder to the three men who were watching him with expectant eyes.

"I'll deal with it. You get back to work, I don't want to hear a single word about any of you going near this man, understand? We don't need a war breaking out because you lot can't keep your guns in their holsters."

Tommy was gone before Rick could start blubbering and lashing at a rebuff, anything to change what Tommy had said, anything to change the sudden right turn this course of action had taken him. Nearly blue in the face from pent up anger and uneasy in the gut, like a barbed wire was wrapped around his intestines, Rick froze, even as the imbeciles names Lyle and Dylan began chatting amicably amongst themselves. Then he came back to racing life, sweeping his arm across the table, sending the ash try flying and sailing through the air, smashing into the chipped painted wall, raining down in shards as he yelled one word.

"Shit!"

Shit indeed. He really was a fucked man now. If there was one thing Tommy Shelby didn't like, it was being lied to and Rick, in all his anger and thirst had done so to his face. He was in the deep. He needed to leave and disappear fast. The little bitch would have to wait.

* * *

 _~The Garrison Pub~_

Harry huffed and rolled her shoulders as she slid three pints down the bar to a waiting threesome, sweeping her arm out and scooping up the change that was left on the top, payment for the drink she had just served. It had been a week now, a full week, seven days, 168 hours since she had rolled the dice and went tumbling her way into the past on the tail end of endless hope and a hazy summer dream to make a better world. Despite all the odds, all the struggles, all the questions and what ifs that plagued her in the middle of the night, whether this had been the right thing to do or not, Harry had been having a good time.

Her days had been routine filled, almost rigid and strict in its coming and going, but Harry liked it that way. In the mornings she would be at Bubbe's bakery, helping as much as she could. Normally far away from the stove as the last time she ventured near it, she had cremated all the new loaves and one of Harry's eyebrows had nearly been singed off. Well, it had been burnt off but luckily she had spelled it back before Bubbe noticed and she would have to go around waiting for the damn thing to grow back naturally. In that short time, Bubbe had grown on her like no one else had in a very long time. The woman was like the sun, blazing and warm and so full of life, laughter and love. Of course, she could turn into an absolute Inferi when pushed correctly.

Like the time Harry had let slip she had been out during the night, checking to make sure Bubbe was fine and safe after she had heard news a shop down at Singers hill had been robbed. Harry's ear was still red and ringing from when Bubbe had snapped up, with far too much speed for her supposed age, twisted the poor cartilage and dragged her over to a chair, pushing her into it, demanding Harry to promise she wouldn't do anything so foolish again, with a sound slap up the back of her head for good measure. Harry was no fool, she saw the underlying message crystal clear. _Don't risk yourself for me_ , that was what Bubbe was trying to get her to agree too.

It was sort of frightening the way the homely old lady could turn from best grandmother to a raging goblin waving around Gryffindor's sword with a flip of a switch. Molly Weasley had nothing on Bubbe. And for some reason, some reason Harry could hardly form into words, be it her own lack of family throughout her short life or not having many people around her that actually cared for her, her safety, her and not the titles or things she could do for them, it made her smile and feel oddly at peace within herself in defiance of her poor abused ear.

After the bakery, around three, Bubbe would chase her out with a basket full of food and a flap of a dishcloth, telling her to get home and eat plenty, to stay safe and a quick hug for goodbye, Harry would head for the Garrison. Normally, Merope was cleaning down the tables or fetching drinks, Fenton behind the bar serving the rowdy customers. Fenton would smile and shout his hello, some of the patrons that knew her would raise their glasses in silent greetings.

Merope would flutter over to her and Fenton would tell Merope she could have the rest of the afternoon off, never mind he never actually gave Merope things to do, nor let her work passed three at any rate. The two women would go upstairs to their flat, looking cleaner, organized and more like a home with each passing day. They would peacefully eat, talk, bathe and then head to bed ready to repeat the cycle. Harry was proud of herself during that week, Merope's cheeks were beginning to fill out, the dark circles lessening each morning, her hair never greasy and limp any more. Of course, she had a lot more work to do before Merope reached healthy levels, but these were the first baby steps taken on a long journey.

Routines were comforting, like a safety blanket a child would cling to. It was easy, you knew what was happening, what to do, what to expect. It was a quiet life and Harry couldn't get enough of it. Merope, bless her, was slowly cracking more and more each day, and Harry wasn't naive, it wasn't just her efforts that brought this tough change around. No, she had Fenton to thank for that. The man was a natural chatterbox, something that worked well with Merope's own lack of talking skills at present. Plus, he was well and truly intuitive, seemingly knowing when someone was even beginning to become uncomfortable, backing off immediately with nothing but a smile and a glint in his eye. Fenton, luckily, was a good man.

However, Harry's precious and well-loved routine came crashing down on the eighth day. Fenton had told her two days ago he wouldn't be at the pub, having to go down to a shipping yard to sign off on a shipment of liquor that he had ordered to restock their dwindling supply. All was well and dandy until Fenton said he wasn't shutting down the pub for the evening, needing the business as times were tough and had shyly asked if Merope could join him in his mini adventure. Of course, Harry had smiled and said yes, she would hold down the fort while they were gone for the evening, telling Bubbe she wouldn't be in that day. Even going as far to see them off before re-locking the door until opening time reached the clock. Then She panicked.

She knew fuck all about how to manage a pub.

She had been in magical pubs, so she somewhat had a handle on the basics, but during her tizzy of induced frantic searching, she had seen no fire-whiskey on the shelving, no Stardust rum, no witches brew. Honestly, what was Guinness and how much did you charge for it? It looked like something you would use to clean, not consume... She didn't even want to begin to think what Brandy was, wasn't that a girls name? Shit. She was sure before Fenton and Merope got back that night, the pub would be nothing but cinders and ashes, Harry standing there, lost in the chaos, where it had once been, bashfully apologizing profusely for destroying Fenton's lively hood. She could tell him she tried, that had to count for something... Didn't it?

However, after reluctantly putting on a cream blouse and emerald skirt, thinking a dress would just cause unnecessary aggravation, ditching her shoes behind the bar, leaving herself barefoot apart from her stockings, Harry had taken a steadying breath and unlocked the gates of hell. It wasn't long before the pub was packed, apparently, a football game had been on at the local stadium, home team having won, pushing the fans to celebrate the good old fashioned way... By having a major piss up.

When the second hour struck since this nightmare had begun, Harry had sort of gotten the hang of it, if you counted her handing out the right drinks by this point as getting it right, apparently, as one laughing customer had pointed out, lager didn't go in wine glasses... And wine glasses were the bowl glasses with one long leg... But things were growing more and more hectic, and the more hectic it got, the more her temper's cage cracked. If one more man put a hand on something it didn't belong on, if she stubbed her toe one more time, if she had to listen to one more crude remark, if she spilled one more drink, she was just going to hex every person here, building included and leave. Done. Finite.

Something creaked loudly and from the corner of her eye, busying herself with pouring yet another pint out the large tap for another round, Harry saw the little corner window open, the little window that was really nothing more than a square porthole that lead to the closed off room Fenton had told her about, swung open. Barely she remembered something Fenton had told her, something about a friend who frequented there and used the room... She wasn't sure, she was already in a quiet panic by that point, nodding to everything despite not registering a word that Fenton said. So, Having forgotten what Fenton had told her about that little window, Harry treated whoever was there with the same attitude she had treated everyone with all night. Barely concealed aggravation and total lack of patience. She was a Gryffindor after all, they weren't exactly known for level heads or buckets of patience.

Just as the beginnings of a deep cough began to rattle out from the man, it had to be a man with how deep it was, Harry, not taking her hands or eyes away from pouring the drink, she had learned that lesson within the first five minutes, Harry filled the remainder of the glass, slammed it down on the bar, lager splashing up the side and spilling onto the bar, reached for another glass but before she pulled the tap back, held her finger out, pointing to the little window and spoke clearly, so there couldn't be any dispute on her meaning.

"You, wait your turn."

Only after having finished the six pint round did Harry finally brush her hands down her skirt and wandered over to the window, finally peeking through to see who had intervened in her slowly establishing groove, and froze. A man, a head taller than herself stood on the other side. His hair, as black as a raven's feather, was in the cut that many men sported around here in Small Heath, maybe a style for the time she was in but instead of looking severe, it blended well with his sharp and carven features. His features were proud, swooping and straight, almost aristocratic in nature, but with a bit of softness to the edges that held the natural haughtiness at bay. However, it was his eyes that caught you. Eye's like melting snowflakes, blue but so light, it was hard to tell. A perfect circle of winter sky dotted with a black moon.

He seemed to freeze too, both simply just looking, seizing the other up when Harry finally noticed the woman beside him. She was middle-aged, features very much in the same venue as the man, aristocratic but soft, eyes dark with rouged lips, hair a mop of curls clipped back, curls that nearly gave Harry's a run for their money if she let them free to do what they liked. She, the woman, was beginning to smile when Harry finally snapped back. She was tired, her feet ached, sans shoes might not have been the best course of plan, and her fraying nerves mistook his scrutiny and silence for derision. After all, it wouldn't be the first time she was looked down upon. So, just as the man's mouth opened to speak, hand's bracing on her hips, readying for a fight, Harry barked at the man over the roar of the crowd.

"What do you want?"

The man reared back an inch, mouth shutting, pronounced lips thinning just a smidgeon, eye's squinting, seemingly taking on an icy glow at her tone, from shock or anger, Harry couldn't tell. However, clipped his words might be, malice there was no hint of.

"Brandy. 1864."

1864? The year or was that how many ounces he wanted? Dear Merlin, she had a whole new level of respect for Fenton, she really did. Quickly scanning the shelves, Harry shrugged, reached up and plucked up a bottle, strolling the last few steps to the window, shoved the bottle through, nearly chuckling as he scrambled to grab it as it nearly crashed into his waistcoat covered chest, his perfect stoic façade down for those few seconds, for some reason making Harry feel a wave of accomplishment for unseating the man, nodded once and spoke.

"Leave the money on the ledge."

Then, without further ado, no hello's, goodbyes or pleasantries, Harry slammed the window shut, dusting her hands as she turned her back on it. She had only gotten four steps away when the sound of the window opening rang out, the man's voice picking up from behind her, causing Harry to tense.

"This... This is rum. I asked for Brandy."

Harry bit her tongue. They both knew he didn't ask for anything, no, he had demanded it. Not a please or thank you even on the horizon of possibility. Arrogant bastard. The worst? While his Birmingham accent was soft compared to some she had heard, she could still detect the teasing lilt to his words. He was purposely trying to wind her up. She was sure of it. Well, two could play at that game, hence why even though the bottles of Brandy was in clear view of the both of them, the man even pointedly looking at them on the middle shelf, Harry had given him Rum instead. What was the golden rule? Never piss off the service. Backing up, Harry simultaneously twirled on her heel to face the man, who was learning through the small window, smiling as sweetly as she could in that moment, grabbing a hold of the shutters.

"Sorry, all out of Brandy and manners it seems. Looks like rum's on the menu for you tonight. Now, if you please, I'm a bit rushed here so deal or find another pub."

Then, with one last twist of lips... She slammed the window shut on his face. That felt a lot more satisfying than she had thought it would. Wandering back to the tap and waiting crowd that was just beginning to thin, Harry listened as a man tipsily placed his order for him and his three friends, Harry began to slide back into things, plucking out three glasses from underneath and pouring from a green bottle of something called Gin. She jarred, slipped and spilled some when the window behind her, that damned fucking window, rattled open, that equally damned man's voice speaking up from behind her. That. Lilt. Still. Present. Harry nearly smashed the glass in her tight grip, nearly smashing the bottles behind her with a flare of barely suppressed magic. However, still staring in front of her, she missed the widening of the woman, who was by the man, eyes, the way she looked around herself as if looking for something before shaking it off.

"What's your name?"

Rolling her shoulders, Harry passed along the tumbler glasses, smiled, took the money and began walking back to the window... Once more. Although, this time she plucked up a little square piece of wood laying innocently under the bar, hanging off the ledge. Now, as she reached the window, it was Harry's turn to lean through the window and into the man's space, knuckles white as she held the shutter handles.

"Harry. Now kindly fuck off."

With a chuckle, Harry slammed the window home and for good and peace, slid the thick chunk of wood into the handles, jarring and locking the lock into place. Smiling proudly as she nearly hopped and skipped away. Let's see Mr. Tall and blue open it now, shall we? Only as she heard the window jingle and groan as it was tried to be opened did she finally let the laughter out, some drunks who looked about ready to doze off joining in when they knew nothing of why she was laughing, let alone stare in a straight line. Smiling to one man, a man she had only just noticed had been watching her the entire time, interaction with blue eyes included, hair cut severe, brown coat on, stubble on his cheeks but friendly smile in place, hold up his pint in what looked to be respect. She thought she remembered him telling her his name, something like Frank or Freddie. Either way, Harry politely nodded and then heavily sighed when some man began waving her down. Back to work it was then.

On the other side of the glass and wood, one Tommy Shelby pointedly looked between the bottle of rum in his hand and the locked window, a bit dazed by the whole encounter, though he would never admit it and his facial expression would never show it. Although, Aunt Polly was one of the only few that could peak beneath the cracks of his pale front, and unluckily, had witnessed the entire thing. With a warm hand on his bicep, Polly rasped out a chuckle, blowing out a puff of cigarette smoke on the exhale.

"I haven't seen someone make a Shelby speechless since your mother first met your father, pickpocketing him and then having the gall enough to blame him for getting caught red handed, let alone someone making you speechless. Now, this is a girl I like. Come on Tommy, we have business to discuss and I want that drink before we get into it."

* * *

 _~Later That Night~_

Harry sighed deeply as she propped her foot up on the bar of a stall, tying up the laces of her boots with numb fingers. It was well passed midnight, Fenton and Merope still weren't anywhere in sight, but Fenton had told her it could be well into the early morning hours before they came through those doors. Still, anxiousness ate at Harry like termites would at bark. She felt like a mother, dithering at the front door waiting for her child to come home, a thousand and one horrid scenarios playing in her mind. Mugging, stabbings, gunfire, rogue wizards, everything and anything. But it needed to happen, Merope needed to see the world, with and without Harry. She needed more than one person to count on and Fenton... Fenton was a good man, maybe too good and Harry was sure he would look after Merope in her little adventure down at a shipyard.

Thankfully, she still had a few stragglers who were hanging around to keep her mind occupied and away from errant turns her imagination took, though even they were beginning to pack up and head home. Harry had her back turned, piling away bottles and glasses on the shelves, thoroughly distracted as the door to the offshoot room creaked open, two men slithering out into the main part of the pub, stiff goodbyes given as the shorter left and the other edged his way to the bar. Harry didn't know how long he was standing there for, still drying off glasses to put away before a cough forced her to turn around and face whoever was trying to gain her attention.

Blue eyes. Fantastic.

"Whiskey... Please."

Well, at least he had learned some manners. Sighing, Harry plucked out a clean glass and a bottle of whiskey, sliding it onto the table, popping the lid and began pouring. This was Fenton's pub and as much as she wanted to tell the man to fuck off again, she highly doubted Fenton would be glad to hear of how she treated his customers. The man didn't sit down at a stall or chair, simply delved a hand into his blazers inner pocket, pulled out a silver case and a lighter, flicked it open and pulled out a cigarette, sparks of orange and yellow painting his face momentarily in the dim light of the pub, taking a heavy drag before scanning Harry up and down... Again.

"I never did get your full name."

Fighting down the urge to tell him it was piss and off, Harry squared her shoulders, bottle of amber whiskey still tightly in her grasp. Normally Harry prided herself on her warm nature, a friendly face people could turn to in a crowd of hostiles, but something about this man just... Riled her up. And she wasn't even sure if that was the right description to label that bubbling feeling she felt in the bed of her stomach. Either way, it brought her Gryffindor temper flailing to the surface, roaring to be let out. So, it was with great restraint, a mental mantra of for Fenton, for Fenton, for Fenton swirling around her mind that she gently placed the bottle down on the bronze bar, crossed her arms and spoke. Granted, it was through gritted teeth and a none too welcoming tone.

"Harry. Harry Gaunt."

The man's eye's squinted for a moment, just a split-second twitch, but Harry had picked it up all the same. The man took another drag from his cigarette, leaning against the bar that separated them, flicking ash into the ashtray as his body turned partially away from her. That same feeling reared its head up at her as he spoke and she had to clench her fingers from going for her wand, safely strapped to her thigh and hidden, and blasting a Bombarda his way. She housed no disbelief that seeing the man with eyes too blue going sailing through the window wouldn't be at least a little satisfactory.

"Harry Gaunt you say? Well, tell me Harry, how did you get that nasty bruise on your cheek? Or that scrape on your knuckle?"

Harry's gaze flickered down to her hand, knuckles peaking through her blouse and crossed arms. Scraped knuckles from the punch she had thrown at that man's face back in the alleyway down near Singers Hill. The anger simmered down as a sinking feeling set in. She had a theory of just who and what this man was now. Snapping her gaze away from her knuckle and scanning the bar, feeling more stressed as she noticed Freddie was still at the bar, two seats down, eyeing them both up with speculative eyes, a few men in one of the booths, happily drinking between themselves.

Spells were out of the question then, not with so many witnesses, one could easily slip away during the confrontation. So, with a lack of many options and the glint starting to form in Blue eye's, the glint that looked similar to predators when they had finally cornered an injured deer, Harry decided to play dumb. Hopefully, Fenton would be back soon and she could slip away while everyone was distracted. Worst case scenario, she outed herself, packed hastily and got her and Merope out of dodge before it reached Magical authorities... Fuck. How did this day go downhill so fast?

"The same way many would I assume."

Strangely, the man gave a chuckle. A soft thing with shape edges, punctuated with a puff of smoke. Harry slid closer to the bar, unfolding her arms, hiding her legs as she accio'd her wand free, fingers clutching and unclenching around the polished wood, anchoring her down into the moment, blazing to life that urge of flight or fight. Unfortunately for her, and him too likely, Harry had always missed one component of that natural reaction... The run part. With another flick of that damned white stick, a smile creasing the edges of blue eyes mouth, he began to speak and Harry knew the jig was over.

"Funny that. I had a... Colleague come into my office today, sprouting on about a man who broke his nose. Nasty work it was, good hook this person had on them to do that. He said a man by the name of Harry Gaunt jumped him in the alleyway. Ironic how you have the same name, the injuries to match, yet not the gender I was expecting. So either he was lying or this is one big coincidence. I don't believe in coincidences, do you Harry?"

What had she done in her past lives to deserve this? In fact, shouldn't karma, luck, fate, whatever you wanted to call it be working on her side? Surely she had racked up enough points in that department to at least warrant a year or two of blissful and wonderfully boring peace? Yet she was a Potter and Merlin know's they never had the best end of the deal. Thumb stroking wand, Harry came clean bluntly.

"He stole from a seventy-year-old woman. Pushed her down in the street, kicked her and nabbed her handbag. A broken nose was the least he deserved."

Blue eye's head turned to the side slightly, like a puppy did when it found something interesting, though Harry knew equating Blue eyes to a puppy was not a good idea. Muggle he may be, but armed he likely was and even though Harry had the backing of magic if things went even more south, she wasn't particularly fond of finding out which moved faster, spell or bullet. Blue eyes dashed out his cigarette and pushed his blazer back a little, hands digging into trouser pockets, waistcoat now in view. Harry didn't miss the flash of leather at the side of his ribs. A holster.

"Ah, a neighbourhood hero then?"

Harry scoffed and couldn't help her own sardonic smile that took up home on her face. Harry didn't know what game he was playing but she sure knew she wanted no part on its board. Plus, Harry was never known for the softer approach, she was too temperamental and headstrong for it. In fact, it was actually usually what led her into these situations in the first place. She didn't know whether she had her mother, father or the war she had miraculously lived through to thank for that part of her personality. Likely a mixture of all three in hindsight.

"No. Just someone who won't put up with other peoples shit. Including yours. What is it you're getting at?"

Blue eyes gave a soft nod as his smile disintegrated, idly picking up his tumbler to drink from as his eyes drifted over to one of the windows on the opposite end of the pub... Completely looking the opposite way from Harry, a sure sign he thought she was no threat. Harry wanted to laugh, if only he knew. She didn't know which was worse, or angered her more, his frostily bright, alert eyes or the bastards ego. Maybe it was once again all of the above.

"Just a curious customer is all."

In his new stance, still leaning against the bar on his elbow and looking out the window, his blazer pushed further back and a piece of fabric that had been hidden in his waistcoat pocket until this point peeked its hello to the world. A hat. A flat cap. Her theory was right on the point then. He was one of them then, the one the man in the alley had cried about, reminding her of Draco when he would run and scream that his father would hear about this. By his dismissal of what the man had done to Bubbe, he wasn't blind to the goings on. Harry's temper snapped. She had been dealing with people like him for nearly all her life. She had had enough.

"Oh, I see. You're the big bad boss he cried about. What, here to gauge my eyes out are you? For daring to do the right thing? What was it he called himself and you... Oh, Peaky Blinders. Doesn't sound much like a business, more like a gang really. A group of overgrown thugs."

Blue eyes head snapped around, surely twinging in the pressure of the fast act and locked eyes with Harry's head on. Harry didn't waver, didn't shrink, didn't blink, instead, she too hit him head on with her own vivid eyes, scowling. Blue vs green. Like an Aurora Borealis clashing against ice and snow, shards and light blending together, fighting. Finally, Blue eyes gruff voice shattered the glass case of tension around them, only to reconstruct it in lightening speed, fortifying it with words that stung and cut deep, despite them coming from a relative stranger.

"If you count the right thing as chasing down men twice your size, getting into fist fights and getting involved in things that you have no business getting involved in as right choices, I would hate to see your bad ones."

Harry had verbally battled with the best of them, Severus Snape being the primary one. Still, even on the ends of his vicious tongue-lashings that could cut as deep as any real knife or dagger, wound you worse than a heavy beating, it hadn't had boiled her blood as much as Blue eyes did. She honestly didn't know what it was about the man, he just... Erked her. Harry's responding remark was just as chilly and biting as his had been.

"And standing by while an old lady is mugged and shoved to the ground, working with men like that, well, I too would hate to see your bad choices. I've seen men like you, whether you wear bloody hats or masks and tattoos, you're all the same."

By the clenching of his jaw and the tick in his swooping cheek, she had the same effect on him. His glass clinked harshly against the bar as he turned to face Harry fully, hands bracing on the edge as he rounded on her, his tone mocking and lilting... Harry wanted to rip his tongue straight out of his mouth.

"Well, you're in luck then. There are no men like me Red."

Harry's retort was already out before his had fully finished, her hand so tight around her wand now she was idly worried she would snap the wood in two.

"Thank the heavens and choirs then. Small mercy's and all that."

That fizzling static of tension was so thick now, Harry was sure you would have to swim to move at all in the room. Harry thought she could hear the faint ticking of a clock, pounding at the base of her skull, counting down to when either she or he would finally and irreversibly break and the floodgates would open. A hand shot into her tunnelled vision, locked on Blue eyes and the two jarred out of the little... Rage, Harry thought it was rage, it was potent and hot either way, bubble as Freddie materialized out of nowhere, hand resting on Blue eyes shoulder. Freddie was smiling, tone easy but it would take a blind person to miss the forced-ness of it all, the strain to his cheeks and eyes, the placating tone to his voice.

"Tommy, she's new. She doesn't understand-"

Harry didn't let Freddie finish. She couldn't.

"Oh, I understand perfectly well. If this is a threat, it isn't working."

Blue eyes who she knew now was called Tommy, pulled back, hands coming out of his pockets as he fixed his blazer, re-doing the buttons deftly, eyes still zeroed in on her. Freddie sighed and his hand flopped to his side, neither she nor Tommy paid the man much attention.

"It's not a threat Miss Gaunt, it's a warning. One day you'll pick a fight with the wrong person and a bruise and scrape aren't all you're going to come away with. You're lucky it was me that found you and not Fredrick. Small Heath isn't a place for women like you. If I was you, I would leave on the next train. Pretty roses don't grow around here for good reason."

Harry's magic flared out in unrestrained anger, the tumbler on the bar shattering to glitter. Tommy and Freddie's eyes both snapped to the now dusted glass, eyebrows high, though they weren't distracted for long. Harry used the chance to slide her wand back, take a deep breath and brace herself against the bar, leaning over slightly to drive her point home, accent hard and hissed, as if she was seconds from reverting to speaking parseltongue at the man in front of her.

"Well, you know what they say, you can't have roses without thorns and where there are thorns, there are roses. My thorns are bloody sharp Mr. Shelby. Remember that, and if you need a reminder, look at your colleague's face."

Their eyes clashed again, even Freddie, who had willingly intervened before froze and grew silent at the smothering atmosphere. Then a jingle rang out, the sound of footsteps, two pairs, creaked the floor boards in the deathly quiet pub and a welcoming voice rang out, growing more and more uneased at what greeted him.

"Sorry for taking so long Harry, I hope it wasn't too busy... Mr. Shelby... Is everything fine?"

Harry felt a small wave of victory crash over her as it was Tommy who backed down, breaking contact to straighten himself out. He took one last look at Harry before pulling out a note from his pocket, throwing it onto the bar and turning to Fenton, never once looking back at Harry even though he addressed her.

"Yes Fenton, I was just on my way out now. Have a good evening Misses Gaunt and remember what I said."

Tommy strolled past a weary looking Fenton and a hunched over Merope who was staring adamantly at a spot on the floor, nodding as he passed through the doorway. As the door opened and a slight breeze entered the pub, Harry really couldn't hold her tongue in place, nor the rather petty and childish shouted insult she threw Tommy's way before the door shut with a resounding bang, the only hint that he had heard her and he was not in the best of moods. Good. If he wanted to crash her own mood, she would drag his down too.

"Only if you remember what I said!... Arrogant Toe-rag!"

Fenton let out a muted gasp and harsh wince at Harry's shout and the bang of the door. The pub settled into silence before the three men in the booth unfroze and dropped their money onto the table, all seemingly in a rush to get out of there as fast as they could and really, Harry couldn't blame them when Fenton, good natured, soft speaking, friendly Fenton turned on her, eye's the size of tea cup saucers.

"Harry! Don't speak to him like that! Jesus girl, what has gotten into your head? Did you not listen to me earlier? You do not argue, antagonize or prod a Shelby-"

Harry bit back asking Fenton how the hell she was supposed to be able to tell who a Shelby was from anybody else, or why it mattered to do so in the first place when a full laugh rang out. Fenton, Harry, and even Merope slowly turned to the last Patron, Freddie as his laugh died down, clapping Fenton on the back as he and Merope came closer to the bar.

"Ease up Fenton, no harm no foul. I thought you were bloody brilliant Harry. Cheers to you!"

Harry, feeling the tension well and truly gone now, like Tommy had taken it with him in a cloud of fog, chuckled as Freddie downed the last of his larger, slipping the glass onto the bar along with some change.

"Well, that's enough entertainment for me for one night. Let me know when Harry's in the pub again Fenton, she's a real firecracker that one and good entertainment is so hard to come by around here. Goodnight all."

Merope and Fenton politely nodded their goodbyes, Merope's a little late telling Harry she was only doing so because she saw Fenton do it and took it as a cue. Which was good, it meant she was slowly picking up on the silent cues now instead of ignoring them completely. Harry, instead, chose to warmly wave and shout her goodbye to the man that was heading home. After that whole fiasco, Harry could see herself coming to like Freddie.

"Goodnight Freddie!"

Freddie gave a single wave over his shoulder and left in a swoop of murky brown coat, leaving the three alone in the pub. Harry was feeling more at ease since she had been left alone in that pub since early afternoon, only for Fenton to make a mad dash for her, rounding around the bar and skidding to a stop in front of Harry, cheeks red and eyes frantic. The shock of seeing easy-going Fenton in such a state stalled her.

"Harry please, for my own sake of mind, don't do this again. Mr. Shelby... The Shelby's... They get what they want, do what they want, say what they want, have who and what they want and no one will do anything. No one can do anything. These are not the people you are used to, you shouldn't get involved. Please-"

Harry huffed and frowned up at Fenton, large eyes blinking un-amusedly as she cut off his scrambled rant. She had heard the same spiel before, had seen it in action when the Death-eaters had taken over the ministry, like Merlin would she live through that complete bullshit again. Of course, she highly doubted these... Peaky Blinders were anything remotely like Death-eaters, but they seemed to live by the same quid-pro-quo, I want so I take. Harry, in truth, was just sick of seeing the same thing over and over again, repeat after repeat, even eighty years into the past. Maybe...

No. She had never run before, and if Voldemort, the epitome of all things wrong in humanity couldn't get her to run these merlin-damned peaky fuckers wouldn't either. She was here for Merope and Merope liked it here, loved it here, she wouldn't allow some man with too blue of eyes to run them off over a little disagreement, a broken nose and some tempered words.

"Well, maybe it's time someone stood up and said no-"

Fenton snatched her by the shoulders, tugging her closer, leaning down so he was eye to eye with the short woman. Once again, Fenton, unassuming Fenton with his mossy eyes took all wind from her sails with his soft but demanding words.

"Please, Harry. I've only known you a short time, but I honestly like you. Promise me you won't look, talk or argue with that man again. You don't know what he's capable off. I ... I worry for you. Promise me."

Harry had to tell herself and her Gryffindor pride she wasn't running away she was just simply... Avoiding unnecessary confrontation by agreeing to Fenton's promise. Still, it was bitter to her taste buds and smelled regrettably like almonds... Arsenic. Harry's word was sacred to her, her most prized possession in fact, after all, what did you have if you didn't have your word? Nothing. But, as her eyes drifted over to Merope, the sole reason she was here in the first place, the one thing she should be focusing on instead of arrogant men who set her blood aflame, Harry broke.

Merope was looking at her with her one good eye, lips thin in worry, hands clenching and unclenching in front of her chest, her shawl skewed on her shoulders, threatening to fall, fear and apprehension seizing her whole being, Harry felt ashamed she had been so caught up in what was now looking like her own blown temper getting the better of her. Fenton's hands fell away from her shoulders, Harry's eyes fell to the ground and her shoulders slumped as she spoke on a hushed wind, curls bouncing as she nodded.

"I promise... He's still an arrogant bastard though."

The joke at the end had the desired effect of throwing out all the vile pressure in the room as Fenton chuckled and even Merope gave a squeak of laughter. Then Harry tensed as a thick arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug before letting her go when Fenton felt how stiff she was. When was the last time anyone had hugged her?... Too long to remember anything but a slight haze of warmth and Molly's brilliantly brown eyes. It felt... Nice. Really nice.

Merope wasn't the only damaged person in the building, but hopefully, Harry prayed, while Merope piece herself together with Harry's help, maybe, just maybe, Merope could help Harry do the same to her own life. Here, in this pub eighty years in the past, standing with people who should have been long dead, people Harry should have never met, she felt hope. Strong, a star shining hope that just this once she could have the one thing she always dreamed about.

 _Family._

"As long as you don't tell him that... Again, it's fine. Now sit down, I'll cook us up something to eat and we can relax for a bit. I bet you're knackered."

Harry smiled up at Fenton, bright and true, as she nodded, Fenton heading towards the back room where he slept, likely gathering up a quick meal of sandwiches and tea. Merope was the first to sit down at one of the booths, a clean one thankfully as Harry followed, sliding in the opposite, leaving the empty space next to Merope for Fenton. On her short little journey into time, Harry had found out she had one little skill she had not known she possessed. She was quiet a damn good match-maker. So, sliding back into the routine she loved so much, adored really, Harry leaned onto the table with her elbows, one eyebrow arched as she grinned cheekily, whispering to Merope as she heard clunks and bangs from Fenton in his kitchen filter through the thin walls. Adamantly pushing away all thoughts of Blue eyes, arguments or pumping blood ringing in her ears to the back of her mind.

"So, tell me about your night."

Merope's face lit up in a wonderful shade of pink and red, stuttering back full force as she began to regale Harry about her trip down to something the muggles called a shipping yard, where they housed great beasts of metal that miraculously floated on water despite the lack of magic. It wasn't all that soon before Harry was swept all up in the story, nodding, smiling and laughing in the right places, none the wiser that many, many years ago, or in the future depending on your perspective, a confrontation like hers had taken place.

Lily and James Potter had been first years on the train to the legendary school Hogwarts they would be attending for the next seven years. Sirius and James had become quick friends, having known each other before their first year from family gatherings, James's mother being a Black, when Sirius had picked a fight with one Severus Snape while the two were split, trying to find a free compartment.

The problem was Severus hadn't been alone, his own childhood friend sitting with him, a girl called Lily Evans. Just like Harry, having grown up around muggles, when angered, Lily fell back on what she knew best. In short, it ended up with Sirius sporting a broken nose from a well-aimed punch and a promise of revenge from the unhampered and boisterous lad. To calm his angry and volatile friend, James had hunted down the first year muggle-born with a warning to back off, only in very Potter fashion, didn't word it correctly and came off threatening and arrogant. The two hot-tempered individuals had blown up at each other, ending very much the same way as Harry's own confrontation had, Lily shouting at the retreating James Potter... Calling him an Arrogant toe-rag.

When Charlus Potter met Dorea Black, Harry's grandparents, it ended with Dorea taking off one of her expensive heeled shoes in the middle of her family's ball and lobbing it at Charlus's head. When Hardwin met Lolanthe Peverell, Harry's seventh times grandparents, Hardwin had come away with a red hand print emblazoned on his cheek and a prominent scowl on his handsome face. When Fleamont Potter met his Euphemia, Harry's great grandparents, he couldn't exactly walk or storm away, huffing for breath and holding a deep fear from the force of her kick he would never sire any children.

History, whether past, present, future, was in the habit of repeating itself. It was like that uncle at the Christmas party, the one who kept telling the same joke over and over again because he found it hilarious while the rest of the room gave polite smiles and giggles just to hush the man up. Harry, unfortunately, was not immune from this phenomenon and had just fallen into a loop many of her ancestors had.

It was going to be a very, very bumpy ride.

* * *

 **NEXT CHAPTER:** More Bubbe, A certain sister turns up and someone arrives in Birmingham on 'family business'...

 **A.N:** Well there's chapter three and at a whopping 10k word count, If you guys want smaller chapters, please let me know, I'll be the first person to hold my hands up and admit I get carried away most of the time. I hope you all enjoyed it and it lived up to what you wanted. Sorry, this came out a bit late, Tommy's character was hard to pin down and even now I'm still not a hundred percent happy with how he turned out in this chapter. Although I'm hoping I'll get better at writing him the longer I keep at it.

As for when Alfie turns up, I'm afraid to say it isn't for quite a while yet. But not to worry Alfie fans, he does come into it eventually, it'll just take a little longer as I have an idea about how and when it happen's, it's just believably getting to that point that'll take up some time.

I know there wasn't much Merope this chapter, but primarily, this fic centers on Harry, though heavily featuring Merope. So while she is definitely not a foreground character, she is neither leading actress so to speak. Thank you to all those who liked my version of Merope, you don't understand how worried I was about involving her or what people thought with how and where I was taking her character.

As for voting for Pairing I can give out the results, which are:

 **Tommy/Harry-6**

 **Alfie/Harry-3**

 **Alfie/Harry/Tommy-7**

So, Alfie/Harry/Tommy wins. However, I will most likely end this fic with a singular pairing, as one reviewer pointed out, realistically, a threesome just wouldn't fit. That end pairing, however, is going to be a surprise. To elaborate a little more, it won't be a full-on Alfie/Harry/Tommy more of a Harry/Alfie and Tommy/Harry... If that makes any sense at all. Still, I would love to hear your thoughts.

 **A HUGE THANK YOU** to all those who reviewed, you guys are why I keep writing and posting this fic. Thank you to all those who followed and favourited, I hope I'm at least keeping you a little bit entertained and you are looking forward to the next chapter.

Please leave a review, they get my fingers typing faster. Until next time, stay beautiful- **AlwaysEatTheRude21**


	4. Imp

**THREE MONTHS LATER**

 _Thomas Shelby's P.O.V_

The three fingers of rum gave a pleasant warmth in Tommy Shelby's throat as he downed the rest of his drink, perched on a stool at the very end of the Garrison's bar, a lit cigarette dangling from his index and pointer finger of his right hand. When the glass clinked against the wooden countertop of the bar, all he had to do was simply tap twice next to it before Fenton caught on, nodded, put away the rag he was using to clean the glasses in the pocket of his apron and pluck up a bottle for a refill of Tommy's drink.

It had been about four, five weeks since he had seen the bartender he had mentally nicknamed 'Red'. Either the girl had grown smart and left Small Heath like he had warned her to, she was now avoiding him at all costs, another smart move on her part, or, as Tommy believed was more likely, Fenton and the woman... A Marcy... Mercy, Merry? Something like that, had been ushering the girl away when either he or his 'colleagues' paid a visit. Why believe the latter? From what he had seen of red, even the very minimum they had interacted, she was a loud-mouthed, stubborn, fiery-tempered thing. So, yes, he doubted she was hiding her face by her own accord.

Tommy's lips curled as he brought his now filled glass to his mouth. Either way, it didn't matter, did it? It was another problem out of the way. At least, that is what he kept telling himself. Especially when he found himself frequenting this place more than he normally would, and that was saying something, or when his eyes swooped the premises for a flash of vibrant red upon entering. Something was... Different with the woman. Something... Hot and bright. Star-esque. Burning and scorching those who ventured too close. Perhaps he had imagined that feeling. Perhaps it had simply been too long since someone had stood up and told him no, let alone slam a window on him, shout, snarl and practically spit in his face the way she had. It had been a... New experience and Tommy liked new experiences. That was all.

Just as his glass made a touchdown for the second time on the counter-top, the doors of the Garrison slammed open, banging against the wooden door frame. Shouts rang out from the patrons, confusion at first, morphing to anger and then finally settling on a sort of muted horror. Ditching his half smoked cig in the ashtray, Tommy swiveled around to the door, almost wincing when he spotted the source of all the commotion. It must have been a Tuesday.

Danny Whizz-bang stood in the middle of the entry-way, hammer in one hand, broken chair leg in the other. His stance was off balance, shaky, unstable. His eyes were wide, pupils blown, glazed and hazy. Scrapes and cuts glittered on his face, swelling and bleeding, telling Tommy this wasn't his first stop since the beginning of his episode. Danny lifted the chair leg in his hand and was about to start swinging by the time Tommy had staggered to a stand and Fenton had made it over the bar. Luckily, or unluckily if you viewed it from a certain angle, before Danny could clock an old minor from the factory across his balding and weathered head, something tackled him from behind, sending the two sprawling to the floor.

The crowd pushed back, trying to get away from the tussle, but that only left more room for Fenton and Tommy to make a dash towards the two on the floor. By the time the two skidded to a stop in front of the mass, things had quieted enough for Tommy to hear a hushed voice. Soft. Warm. Gentle, like a mother brushing the hair away from your forehead. Danny's voice could only croon and croak back.

"You're okay. You're in the Garrison. Remember the Garrison? Say it with me, you're safe. You're in the Garrison. You're safe. You're in the Garrison."

"Safe... Gar-... Garrison. Safe. Garrison... Safe. I'm safe... I'm safe."

Danny's voice broke off into a blistering sob, wracks and heaves shaking his chest... The chest his assailant was currently sitting on. The person was small, curvy, pale even in the sunshine. Dressed in a baggy white shirt, no shoes and men's fawn coloured trousers, Tommy was hard pressed to say who exactly it was, until he took notice of the soaking wet hair that trailed off their back, shielding their face from the way they were hunched over. Even as wet as it was, it was not tough to delegate exactly who that fierce red locks belonged to.

Harry.

"I'm going to let you up now... You're safe, keep saying it, okay? Safe. You're safe now... Now, come on, let's get you cleaned up."

Slowly, like an unfurling spider slipping from its web, Harry moved her one foot that was being used to pin down his hand with the hammer, followed by the knee used to trap the arm with the chair leg. Then she slowly, like a cautious animal trying to cross a busy road, heaved herself off Danny's chest, backing off to give him just enough space to breathe, but keeping close enough should he slip back into the darkness of his own mind, she could leap back into action.

Thankfully, he was still whispering that he was safe and seemed compliant enough to be urged to a stand, although he nearly toppled Harry and squashed her when he leant too heavily on her smaller frame. With pottering, stilted steps, Harry began leading Danny towards the back room, the back room where Tommy often 'conducted' business. Over her shoulder, she spied Fenton, shot him a quick smile and spoke over the noise of the quickly returning to normal pub inhabitants. After all, it wasn't like it was the first time they had played witness to Danny's... 'memory shifts'.

"Can you bring two bottles of strong, and I mean strong, alcohol to the back room Fen? Cheers. Oh, a rag and a glass too."

Fenton hit right back with a confused frown.

"Two?"

From the corner of his eye, Tommy could see the other woman, the one Fenton liked... Molly? Hop from one foot to the other, standing in the open doorway to the pub. Ah, the two of them must have been out and arrived just in time to see the afternoon show. However... Merry, he was pretty sure it was Merry, was bone dry. Harry's retreating voice cut through his thoughts like a hot knife through butter.

"One for cleaning and one for drinking!"

Before Harry and Danny could fully slip into the back room, Merry's stuttering voice brokered through the air.

"A-a-a-are you... You sure you're safe in t-there with... With him after what he-he just did?"

Just as Tommy had remembered that heat, the burn, the crackling temper, it was odd to see it aimed at someone other than him.

"It is not his fault!"

Merry took a step back, a step away, her face falling and only then, when Harry noticed the reaction, did her own temper die down to a cindering log. From the looks of it, Tommy thought this Merry wasn't used to being on the receiving end of Harry's anger, though she did seem skittish enough to have been around someone's anger before. Harry gave a fractured, pained smile as she spoke as if she was whispering a lullaby to a teething babe.

"Look, I'm sorry. It's just isn't his fault, okay? The door will be open, I'll be just in here, everything's fine Merry. Tell you what, why don't you get me and him one of those tarts you make so well? They always brighten up my day."

It was almost like someone had flipped a switch in the older woman as she brightened, hastily nodded and with a muted 'on it' dashed for the kitchens around back. Then the two were gone, eaten by the shaded room and lost in the bustle of the pub. Glancing over his shoulder, Tommy eyed up his glass on the bar, debating his next move. However, his curiosity proved too strong as he sighed, slipped a hand into his jackets inner pocket, plucked out his smokes and lit up a cig before sauntering to the open doorway of the back room, leaning in the entryway by his shoulder, legs crossed, plumes of smoke hazing the air around his face.

The two were sitting next to each other in the booth, Harry running a leisurely hand up and down Danny's arm as he whispered the same mantra he had been since Harry's arrival, under his breath. With one last exhale, Tommy piped up.

"What? Not got a hello for me, Red?"

Harry sliced him a glare from lowered lids. The action only made Tommy smile, and her following words only bloomed that upturn of lips into a fully grown grin.

"Fenton told me if I have nothing nice to say to you, don't say anything. Please don't test me on my word. I'd rather not break it."

Any retort Tommy had died when Fenton hustled passed him, dropping the two bottles of drink, a rag and two glasses in front a still dripping Harry. Finally, Harry let go of Danny to wearily pick up the two bottles, gaze flickering between the two before she half-hazardously shrugged, cracked open the Vodka, doused the rag in the clear liquid, then filled a single glass with rum and handed the bottle of rum over to Danny. Danny's grasp violently shook as he took it, taking a hearty sip from the bottle, keeping it on hand.

Harry downed her own drink in one swift go before bringing the rag close to Danny's face, slowly pressing it against his bleeding cuts and scrapes across his cheekbone. Danny said nothing, didn't even wince, he never did after an episode. Fenton's incredulous voice was the only thing to shatter the oppressive silence.

"Harry... Why are you sopping wet?... and wearing no shoes?!"

Harry grinned but didn't take her eyes off the task at hand.

"Took a little dip and swim."

Both Tommy and Fenton frowned, but it was Fenton once again left to verbalize his thoughts.

"There are no public baths or swimming pools in Small Heath... And those are not the clothes you left in..."

A voice picked up from behind Tommy as Merry tottered into the room, holding a tray of what looked like jam tarts, which once placed on the table, Harry dived straight for, handing one to Danny almost reluctantly. She had a sweet tooth then...

"That's because she fell into the canals around back. She thought she could run across the railings of the bridge... She couldn't. Fell right in, nearly got ran over by a barge and then when she finally managed to drag herself out of the canal, she decided to hop a fence and steal some clothes off a washing line. Only, halfway through getting changed, the man of the home spotted her and unleashed his brood of dash hounds, forcing us to try and leg it less we lose a limb, all the while Harry could only laugh. This is the last time I let you pick our walking route Harry, last time it was the crazy barber with his broom and scissors, now these dogs..."

Harry, in turn, looked cheekily affronted, if such a look was possible, as she popped the last bite of her tart in her mouth, re-dousing the rag in Vodka as she went back to work on Danny's face.

"Brood? Merry, it was three... Four, tops. That's not a brood of dogs. And at least you didn't have to try and run while pulling up your trousers. And, might I add, it wasn't me cackling away when said man of the house tried to make haste after us and fell into a pile of his own dogs, dog shit, was it?"

Merry turned a blazing red as she stuttered and spluttered, only making Harry chuckle harder at the woman's expense. Fenton, who had taken pity on the blushing woman, leaned over and placed a gentle hand on Merry's shoulder, tugging her towards the door.

"Can you help me in the bar Merry, people will be lining up by now."

Merope smiled and nodded, eyes large and wide as she looked up to Fenton before quickly sending Harry a limp wave as a goodbye. Harry winked back before the pair left. Mmmmm, seemed to Tommy Fenton wasn't alone in his feelings for Merry by the way she gazed at him back. Harry, however, went back to cleaning, keeping her back towards him. Tommy only flicked the butt of his cig in the ashtray on the table, but stayed adamantly in place.

This, of course, seemed to irk the red-head by the way her shoulders tensed and squared. after all, she didn't even bother to look in his general direction when she spoke.

"Are you really going to just stand there and watch, or actually do something useful?"

Tommy kicked off from the door frame, walking into the room a step or two, hands diving into the pockets of his trousers as he eyed the back of Harry.

"Depends on what you count as useful?"

He heard her sigh, deeply, exhaustedly, as if it was taking everything she had not to bite back the way she wanted to. For some strange, unfathomable reason, this made Tommy want to laugh. Actual, god-given laughter. It also made him want to push her just a little bit more until she did let loose.

"Pour me a drink, will you? I need it if I have to put up with your presence."

Even as he spoke a rebuttal, Tommy obliged, going towards the table to pour her some rum, pulling the other unused glass over to pour himself a shot or two.

"I think the man you just robbed needs it more than you do."

Even before he finished speaking, Harry was scoffing at him, blindly reaching behind her to pick up her glass and drink from it as she began on the last cut on Danny's forehead.

"Have a heart, I've just nearly been mauled by a pack of wild dogs. What more do you want? And hey, he has my blouse and skirt, doesn't he? Looks like both of us will be cross-dressing today. There all done."

Harry dropped the wet rag with a plop onto the table, dusting her hands off on her trousers. Danny smiled at her, shakily, still not fully back in the present but at least calm now, as he went to leave. However, before he stood up and left, he reached out and squeezed her hand. Harry squeezed back before she let him go. It seemed both Harry and Tommy knew now that what was best for him was some alone time and a good nap. Harry downed the rest of her drink and went to leave, but with one smooth step, Tommy was in front of her and subsequently blocking her only exit.

"Have another drink."

The fire in her eyes blazed emerald green as she scowled at him, meeting his ice head-on, barely holding back the scoff that obviously wanted to break loose from her pursed lips.

"I've just been attacked by dogs and forced to run halfway across Birmingham-"

"Exactly. Count it as a victory drink against the evil mutts that nearly ended your existence."

Slowly, Tommy stepped out of her way, giving her the option to leave if she wanted to. He didn't think she would, he had an inkling she was a bit too much like him, too curious for their own good. Her slap back didn't disappoint.

"And what will your drink be? A sorrowful one that the 'evil mutts' didn't finish the job for you?"

Tommy smiled a slick grin, picked up a glass, filled it and handed it to Harry, who reluctantly took it, as he sat down in the booth. Crossing his legs and filling his own drink up, taking a sip, he cocked a brow at her.

"What you did then... for Danny... It was... Nice... Of you."

Harry... Laughed. And she laughed hard. The sound was as bright and flaringly warm as her temperament, like steam rising from magma.

"That actually pained you to say, didn't it? A compliment from the Thomas Shelby... Who would have thought."

Just as it had been Harry's turn to laugh, it was now Tommy's to scowl harshly at her.

"Don't get used to it. You're a loudmouth, foul... Imp of a woman who doesn't know when not to light a match."

Harry still chuckled as she held her glass out towards him in a mockery of a cheer as she took a deep drink.

"Now there's the Tommy-boy I know. The blunt, cold cunt who couldn't care less about anybody else. Couldn't keep up the nice act, could you?"

Tommy very nearly snarled at her. Perhaps by the twinkle of victory in her eye, he actually did.

"And you just can't keep your knife of a tongue from cutting, can you? Perhaps I'm not the only 'cunt' in this room."

Harry glared from hooded, blazing eyes, the curls around her face drying and twirling around her heart-shaped face, framing, the twinkle of victory long gone. Downing the rest of her drink, she leant over, slammed the empty glass on the table and straightened out.

"Well, this has been nice and all... Who am I kidding? I would have rather the dogs had chewed my left leg clean off, but it's been an experience... An experience I'm ending right now. Evening, Mr. Shelby. Don't get backed kicked in the head by one of your horses, now that would be a real shame."

Harry sounded like that would be anything but a shame. Before she could fully leave, Tommy's voice echoed behind her. He couldn't help it. He needed to know. Had to. It was a puzzle, a pretty little thing like her, how could she have possibly understood? How could she have known what to do?

"How did you know? How did you calm him so fast?"

They both knew who he was speaking of. Danny. Still, it took a long stretch of silence before Harry answered him, glancing over her shoulder at him. It took her even longer to find the right words.

"I've seen it before... Too many times. It's... It's not their fault. What they've seen... What they've had to do... It traps them. Makes them relive it. Over and over and over... And over. You just have to... Bring them back into the present. Remind them they're alive. They're breathing... It's the only thing you can do."

For once, since speaking to her, Harry's voice is soft, silken, but so melancholy. It doesn't sound like she's speaking of seeing such a thing before, no. But like she knew exactly how Danny felt... How Tommy felt in the twilight hours when he heard the cries, the bombs, smelled the wet dirt so clearly, he was back in that tunnel. But how could she know? She looked like she belonged more on a lords estate than a battlefield. His tongue was moving before he could stop it.

"From what you've... Seen, does it ever go away? Does it ever end?"

She smiled a dead thing then, small, sad, broken. Tommy... Tommy never wanted to see a smile like it again. Especially on someone as bright and fiery as Harry. He almost thought he was looking at a dying star.

"Does the wheel ever stop turning? Funny thing about life, you can mold the future, influence the present... But you cant wipe the past clean. Not in our memories at least. The cries, the pain, the fear and horror... It's in ou-... Their heads... And just because it's in your head, doesn't mean it isn't real. Does it ever end? Does the wheel ever stop turning? I don't have an answer."

Harry turned back around and Tommy shot one last remark at her retreating back. Or, he had thought it would be his last remark, at least for today.

"You might want to get changed, I think you're getting a cold or flu with how... pleasantly less vindictive you've been."

Of course, Harry had to swing back. There was no quitting or rolling with the punches with this woman it seemed.

"No, its the rum going to your head. It's lessening you from complete cunt to a plain ol' bastard."

"So now there's a hierarchy of insults? A cunt is worse than a bastard?"

She'd disappeared from sight around the corner, but over the sound of the pub outside the room, Tommy could hear her tinkling laugh and taunting words sang in a lilt.

"Hey, I don't make the rules, I just live by them."

Tommy doubted that so very much. From what he had seen of Harry, heard of her from the streets, the way she spoke, acted... Smiled so brightly without constraint, fear or camouflage, he refused to believe any rules, physics, life, could bound a spirit like hers. Harry lived outside the norm, the rules... Just like he did. They were... kindred spirits in a way. Tommy downed his own drink, the thought hot and heavy on his mind as he left the pub. Bloody imp was right.

* * *

 **TWO DAYS LATER**

 _Harry Potter's P.O.V  
_

Harry tugged her coat tighter around her form as she made her way down the early morning street, securely wrapping her arms around her waist to keep the biting chill of the air from piercing her clothes as much as possible. She was tired, achy, cold but also strangely good for someone who was running on three hours of sleep a night and was currently traipsing down to their job at quarter to five in the morning.

It had been two and a half months since Harry had arrived in this time... Actually, nearly three and things had been going good. Almost too good. The kind of good that left Harry on the edge of her seat, just waiting for when the proverbial shit hit the imaginary fan. However, no 'shit' had come sailing towards her head and it felt... Nice.

Merope was doing good, brilliant even. Every day brought the down-trodden woman more out of her shell. Only yesterday did Merope actually join in with the banter, calling Harry a cretin when she had swapped the older woman's sugar with salt in her morning cup of tea. Of course, she had later gone red, stumbled through a hasty apology, which Harry brushed off with a simple explanation that it was about time Merope started standing up for herself. Harry had been awarded a smile and a shaky nod.

Merope had also started branching out with making friendships that weren't based on or around Harry. She had begun talking to a cleaning lady down the road in the afternoons on her lunch break. She baked cookies for the mail boy that came excitedly to their door every morning. And her relationship with Fenton had only solidified. Dammit, in the past week Merope had even started venturing outside the house by herself, without Harry or Fenton. Even if it had only been a quick half hour trip down to the road, knowing how anxious Merope had and was with being around muggles alone, Harry had never been prouder of a person when Merry had come stumbling back into the Garrison, punt of milk in one hand, happy blush dusting her cheeks, highlighting her wide grin.

Harry herself was doing well. When she had a spare half hour, which was rare, you would find her with Freddie playing pool, or on the streets playing cards with the orphans that haunted the streets. Of course, that was after she finished helping Bubbe in the bakery, taking shifts in the Garrison to give Fenton and Merope a break, taking food out to the orphans, magicking blankets and clothes for them or buying them from her small wage in the bakery, or hiding at their little squat of a house in the dead of the night, creating or strengthening the wards she had placed around the house to keep them safe. However, she couldn't and wouldn't complain. not when she had people, real people, who she had come to care for, against the odds. When there were people who she actually looked forward to seeing and speaking to. And the work was never a problem with Harry, she was used to working, dashing around the place, forever busy. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had beat that into her.

In retrospect, there were only two things she could grumble about. The three hours of sleep she got a night from all the shifts and work she was doing and the last, and most important, was skin wrapped and called himself 'Thomas Shelby'. Harry just didn't know what to think or... Feel about him. He was like a human ping-pong ball. One moment she wanted to see him melt in a blast of Incendio, the next she was actually debating with herself if he was actually that bad of a person... Until he opened his mouth again. Harry simply couldn't pin him down, and boy, did that irk her. She pinned everyone down. Her innate sense of who a person was, was something she prided herself on. Yet, Tommy Shelby came along and threw her radar right out the bloody window as if it meant nothing.

What gave him the fucking right?

And while she was at it, how the fuck did he get cheekbones that sharp? Harry shook her head mindlessly. She was getting off point. The crux of the issue was the blue-eyed bastard was becoming a problem. A bane. A prickly fucking thorn, that if it wasn't careful Harry would have to pluck off the damned rose. He was observant, too observant. Smart. Quick. One slip and Harry didn't doubt he would figure something out, and it wasn't only her arse on the line, Merope's was too, and she couldn't let anybody place that sort of danger in Merry's direction, not while she was still so fragile.

Harry wasn't dumb, after her little run-in with him two days ago, with Danny, she knew he knew she wasn't all she seemed. And that glint of curiosity that sparkled in his eyes as she had left the room? Yeah, that sounded like a death knoll alright. So, while she had to walk a tight line, keep her head down for Merope's sake, she also couldn't let sir fucking Shelby play whatever games he was cooking in that quick mind of his. In an odd way, she may have respected him, liked him even, if he wasn't currently making her life ten times harder than it needed to be. And, in turn, making Merope's life harder. That was something she couldn't let past her.

Harry shook off the gloomy, doomy, melancholy thoughts out of her head as she reached Bubbe's bakery, painting a smile on her face as the door gleefully jingled as she entered, shouting out her greeting as she hung her coat up in the hallway.

"Hey, Bubbe! It's just me, Har-"

Harry cut herself off as she came around the corner into the main room of the bakery, seeing the table where Bubbe and she would eat their lunch at. Normally, Bubbe would have been up for about fifteen minutes now, just long enough to put the kettle on and set up some breakfast at the table, which Harry would help complete. Bubbe would still be in her nighty, wrapped snuggly in her dressing gown, slippers still on her feet, stove on to heat up and a few gas lamps to keep the dwindling darkness at bay.

However, that was not the greeting Harry had gotten this morning and all too quickly, Harry knew, just knew, it really had been going too good. Bubbe was sitting at the table, the kettle was in place... Three cups in place. That was where any similarity ended. Bubbe was fully dressed, hat and shoes and all, coat slung over the back of her chair. Instead of porridge, a full array of baked goods let their aromatic smell fill the air in little puffs of steam. Across from her sat a man. Tall, lanky, dark hair, clean shaven, kippah securely pinned to the back of his head.

Harry, of course, froze. Bubbe either didn't care or notice, as she smiled brightly, bubbly speaking in a bright, cheerful voice.

"Oh, just the person we're waiting for! Come, come, sit! Have a hot drink. Harry, this is Ollie, Ollie, this is the girl I was telling you about, Harry."

Harry forced another smile to her face, nodding and blinking slightly, even though she had no idea who this was or what was going on. In the entire two, three months she had been working here, Bubbe had no visitors. No guests. No one. So, yes, seeing a strange man sitting in her spot at the table did throw her off her game a little. Harry made her way over, holding out her hand towards the man... Ollie.

"Erm, nice to meet you, Ollie. I hope it's only been good words?"

Thankfully, her tongue still worked, even if her mind had momentarily stalled in the ignition. Ollie frowned slightly before the creases eased out and he gave her a friendly, warm smile, taking her hand in his large one, giving it a gentle shake before relinquishing his hold. Harry took that as her cue to sit down, which she did, nodding her thanks to Bubbe as the elderly lady pushed over a steaming cup of tea in her direction.

"Oh, only the best. Although... We were under the assumption you were more... Masculine..."

His voice was soft, a bit too soft in Harry's books, but he seemed nice enough. Placid, friendly, a bit shy by the blush blossoming on his cheeks. However, Bubbe only laughed when she seemed to notice the redness creeping up on Ollie's face. Harry's confusion only climbed higher, not only for being mistaken for a boy by a man she had never met, but more pressingly, by the pleasant twinkle currently sparkling in Bubbe's hooded eye's... Almost as if she was pleased that Harry had been mistaken for the wrong gender, then, all too suddenly, Harry clocked on to what he really said. We. Not I. We.

"We?"

Harry took a sip of her tea, sighing in pleasure. Splash of milk, two sugars, strong. Just the way she liked it. Bubbe knew her too well. Ollie seemed to bluster more, the pink becoming a scarlet that started descending his neck and into his collar as he spluttered into his own cup and blinked rapidly.

"Oh, right, sorry. Mr. Solomon... Alfie, he's, ugh, Rania's nephew. He's excited to meet you after what Rania has told him what you've been doing for her."

Ah, that made a... Sort of sense. Bubbe must have told her nephew that she had someone helping out around the shop, perhaps even how the met in the first place, mentioned the name Harry and the obvious conclusion had been, well, concluded. It wasn't the first time and Harry doubted it would be the last. Harry was typically a guys name. Back in primary school, with her hair cut short and dressed in Dudley's hand me downs, everyone had thought she was a boy. Even that one time she had gone to the hospital, after she had 'accidentally' broken her arm after 'playing' with Dudley and his friends, the doctor had not believed she had been a girl until he had checked her medical records. A harmless mistake. Harry's smile finally turned real, but instead of placating Ollie like she had wanted it too, it seemed to have choked him as he started spluttering again. Dammit, Harry wasn't built for social interaction.

"Oh, well, if he's anything like Bubbe here, I'll be glad to meet him too. And to be completely fair, Harry is more of a man's name than a woman's... So, is he visiting today too?"

Finally, Ollie seemed to gain his bearings, but the blush never left his poor face.

"Umm... Visiting?"

Harry gave a slow nod as she bewildering shot a glance at Bubbe, who only grinned deeper. Harry... Harry didn't like that grin. It spoke all too much of 'I know something you don't know'.

"Well, yes. I mean... How else am I going to meet him?"

Ollie placed his cup down on the knitted coaster, turning to face Bubbe head-on, voice pitched a little too high, cracking slightly in the middle of his sentence.

"You... You haven't told her about... You haven't asked her to come when you've told Alfie-..."

Bubbe placed her own cup down, waving her hand in front of her face as if she smelled something bad, nose crinkling too. Harry didn't like where this was going, not one bit.

"Baahhh. It's already set up. The bags are packed and Rosh Hashanah is well on its way."

Harry finally joined the pair in putting her cup down, now wishing it was filled with something a little stronger than tea, as she dazedly shook her head.

"I'm sorry, I'm confused. Packed bags? Asking me what? Told me what? Roshy what now?"

Bubbe kindly smiled at her, folding her hands in her lap. While she knew a bit of Yiddish, a few sparse words Bubbe had taught her, she was still mostly lost on that front.

"Rosh Hashanah, Harry dear. It's Jewish new year. We celebrate it over the week, with family and those dearest to you. You're my little eyniklekh, by blood or not, I refuse to celebrate it without you. You'll love it. There are sweets and candles and those pastries you love so much-"

Harry shook her head again, swearing she had dropped down a rabbit hole or Bubbe had gone and spiked her tea with some strange mushroom. What in the name of Merlin was going on? New year? Nephews? What had this got to do with her?

"I... I still don't see how any of this links up?"

Bubbe opened her mouth to speak but Ollie beat her to the punchline.

"Well, you see, Rania here... Told Alfie about you, of course, she left out the fact you were... Well, a woman and not the man we thought you were, and you see Rosh Hashanah is coming soon and every year Rania comes to Camden to celebrate with her family, only this year she's refused to come unless Alfie made room for you and well, Alfie saw no harm in it and so now-"

Bubbe threw her spindly arms out wide, almost as if she was throwing imaginary confetti.

"Now we're going to London for a week, two weeks to celebrate Rosh Hashanah! The bags are packed, the cars ready, all you need to do is have a hot drink and good food for the road and then we'll be on our way. Oh, you really will love it Harry-"

Harry panicked and she panicked hard.

"I-... I can't just leave! What about the bakery? The Garrison... Merope! I can't just leave Merry behind! And..."

Then, as if summoning an angel by name, Merope's own voice blistered out from the shadowy doorway of the kitchen. She must have come through the back door. Glancing up and over, Harry could just about make her out. She was wrapped up warmly, smiling and... Holding a battered suitcase in her hands.

"It's okay Harry! You need a break, even if it is only for a week or two. You've been running yourself ragged."

Were they... Were they all in on this?! Were they really trying to ship her off to Camden of all places?! No. She had too much to do. She couldn't leave! What if something went wrong? The whole point of being in this bloody time in the first place was to help Merope Gaunt! How could she do that if she was miles away?! Harry's chair squawked as she pushed it out from underneath her, coming to an abrupt stand, hands placed on the edge of the table.

"I've not been that busy-"

Bubbe cut her off with a sharp glare and a no-nonsense tone.

"You come here to work from five every single day. After here, you head to the Garrison and pull shifts there until eight at night. Then, after that, you come back here to help clean up, lock up and take out the old food, heading out into the streets to hand out the food to the orphans... The same orphans that you help cloth and give blankets to with the small wage I pay you. Then around twelve, you go back to the Garrison to help clean and clear the area until two, which you then take a walk to make sure all the orphans and homeless people are safe and tucked away, when you drag yourself home to finally go to bed. Harry, dear, you're nearly dead on your feet. You're doing too much..."

Harry violently shook her head, slicing her hand through the air as if she could physically cut the conversation off. She had not known they had been watching her so closely, but either way, it wasn't as much as they were making it seem. Yes, she was a little tired. Yes, she 'technically' did what they say she did, but that was because she either had to, or she couldn't stomach seeing how people were left in the gutter to wither away. If she didn't stand up, who would? It wasn't too little. It wasn't too much. It was just right! Like fucking Goldilocks!

"Three hours is plenty enough time for sleep-..."

For once, the first time, Merope was the one to cut her off. Harry was lost somewhere between being proud and annoyed.

"Harry... Harry you've taught me to come out of my comfort zone. To break out of my shell. I mean, I went for a walk earlier, all by myself Harry! I would have never done that even a month ago, and I only keep getting better each day... Thanks to you. You taught me that. Now... Now it's my time to teach you that it's okay to have some me time. To relax. Kick back. Enjoy yourself. I'll be here, waiting for you in a week or two's time. Small Heath isn't going to burn to the ground just because you're not here to hold it together. It'll be good, for the both of us. You get to relax and I'll learn that I can't always come to you-"

This isn't why she was here! She didn't come for fun. She came for Merope. To right the wrongs. To save the fucking wizarding world as best as she possibly could. In truth, Harry didn't rightly know what the hell fun was. First with aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon, then Voldemort hovering over her head, then the war, then traveling here... Harry didn't 'let loose'. She did, she worked, she planned and she kept on going. That's what she did, that's what she knew how to do.

"Of course you can bloody always come to me-"

Merope stepped forward, slipping into the orange light of one of the gas lamps. For some strange reason, Harry's chest felt tight. Her head swam. She felt dizzy and she wanted to run... Merlin, was she having a panic attack?

"Harry, I didn't mean it like that and you know it. I... I want to be independent, like you. And you... You need that time to relax. I... I can't see you work yourself to death because you think you have to. Please, if you won't do this for yourself, do it for me?"

Merope's begging tone barely brought Harry back from the edge of a full out anxiety attack. Merry's eyes were sad, pleading and Harry, well, she deflated in defeat. A week. Two, tops. What harm could it do? Perhaps Merope was right. They both needed some alone time. Time to only rely on herself and Harry... Harry was tired. Too tired. First the war, the death, then coming here... Harry had never gotten any time to just... Relax. To take it easy and just breath. It was always jumping from one fire to another, hoping to outrun the hellhounds nipping at her heels.

"Oh, yeah, pull that card when you know very well I can't say no to you..."

Merope dropped the suitcase, dashing over and sweeping Harry into a hug, one Harry readily returned. Her voice tickled the shell of Harry's ear.

"Oh, I'll miss you but have fun, Harry. I'll be right here waiting for you"

Now Harry knows how Merope feels when she pushes Merry out of her comfort zone. It isn't a pleasant feeling. As emotion bubbled in her throat, a million and one things running through her mind that could go wrong in the time frame of two weeks, Harry could only bury her face in Merope's hair and grumble back.

"I'll miss you too... You know I love you, Merry, don't you?"

Merope squeezed harder. It's was likely the first time anyone has ever said that to her, and Harry was more than pleased to be the first. She meant it, she really did. Over the last few months, Merope had somehow, some way weaseled her way into Harry's small world and heart and planted her flag smack bang in its hearth.

"I love you too Harry. So very much and that's why you need to do this. It'll be fun, you'll see."

Of course, it was Bubbe who trampled on the tender moment in all her excitement after finally getting Harry to admit defeat. Not an easy task at all.

"Now, come on, we need to get on the road or we won't make it to Camden until nightfall!"

Harry reluctantly pulled away and nodded, going for her suitcase but Ollie had already beaten her to the finish line, shouldering not only Bubbe's but hers too as he gave her a gentle smile, making his way to the front door.

"Here, let me get that for you."

It almost felt surreal as Harry made her way outside, the sun just hitting the horizon, clambering into the passenger seat of a car parked a few spaces away from Bubbe's shop. The suitcases were strapped to the back, Bubbe climbed into the back of the car, followed by Ollie in the driving seat. After all, she had done to get here, to get to Merope, was she really leaving?... No. It was only for two weeks top. Just a break. Merope had said she would wait for her. Harry would definitely be back. They... they both needed this. Merope wanted this. Still, Harry's heart jackhammered in her chest as Merope waved them away, as Ollie took off down the road. Was she doing the right thing? Could something go wrong? Harry's hand fell onto the handle of the car door, her voice high and strained. She couldn't do this! She couldn't! Something would go wrong! It always went wrong!

"You know what? I think I forgot to turn the stove off and I don't know if Merry's packed everything or forgotten-"

"Harry."

Bubbe's voice shattered the hysteria Harry was working herself into and thankfully, her heart rate began to slow to acceptable levels.

"I'm not getting out of this am I?"

Bubbe reached over and pushed a stray curl behind Harry's ear as Harry strained to turn to face Bubbe. Breath. She just needed to breathe.

"No, deary. So sit back and enjoy the ride. After all, me and Merry didn't go through all the hassle of keeping this out of from under your nose for you to just jump out of the car window halfway through the journey. And before you start, we knew you would try and blow us off if we didn't get the surprise drop on you so wipe that look off your face. It's for your own good."

Ollie piped up as he took a rather sharp corner.

"Are you sure it isn't for your enjoyment? That why you haven't corrected Alfie every time he refers to Harry as he?"

Bubbe made a noise as if someone had found her valve and began deflating her.

"Pfffft. My nephew thinks he knows everything. It'll do him some good for a bit of humility to come his way. He's still not too old for a scolding off his aunt. And don't tell me you aren't looking forward to the look on his face when he realizes his mistake. I mean, look how red you turned! Brilliant, absolutely brilliant!"

If Harry was thinking clearly, instead of being lost in oncoming doom and what could happen's, she would have seen this for what it was. A distraction laid out by Bubbe to get her mind off the worry and stress. However, she didn't and fell right into the trap Bubbe had set out for her.

"Am I... Am I a tool being used to get one over on your nephew Bubbe?!"

Bubbe sent her a cheeky wink.

"Don't be silly!... That's just the bonus!"

Harry flopped in her seat, head lolling to look out the window. Well, you know what they say? If you can't beat them, join them... Unless they were death eaters, then burn those fuckers to the ground.

"What have I gotten myself into..."

Harry mentally debated whether she could apparate away without anyone noticing... Doubtful. Ollie, bless him, answered her rhetorical question.

"A very large, very loud, very close Jewish family who's going to be celebrating for a week straight. Think Rania, times twenty."

Both of them seemed to realize the gravity of the situation at the mental image, groaned and said the exact same words in time with one another.

"Oh dear lord."

The oncoming smack up the back of their heads by Bubbe was sharp, precise, and eerily as timed as they had been.

"Do not take the lords name in vain!"

As if they couldn't stop, they answered as one again, both idly rubbing the back of their heads, sheepish.

"Sorry, Rania."

"Sorry, Bubbe."

They drove past a sign saying 'you are leaving Birmingham' and Harry tensed but felt Bubbe's hand on her shoulder. Looking over she saw the warm smile Bubbe is giving her and tried to relax her taut muscles and push back that incessant voice that spoke of all the bad things Harry tried to keep buried deep in her psyche. The endeavor was only partially successful.

"Do not worry so much. Merry will be fine. My nephew will love you, I know it, and so will everyone else. You're my family, which means you're their family now too and family sticks together."

Harry ginger reached up, wrapped her thin fingers around Bubbe's bird-boned hand, squeezed her hand but the soft moment was ruined by Ollie sniggering under his breath.

"Good luck Harry. You're going to need it in this family."

...

"Boy, you're not too old for me to tan your hide with a rolling pin!"

"Sorry, Rania."

* * *

 **THAT NIGHT...**

"Excuse me, are you Mr. Shelby, the man buying the race horses?"

Tommy turned around, eyeing up the young man in front of him. He looked aristocratic, rich, pompous, with his straight, royal nose upturned in the air like he smelled something foul. Tommy wanted to roll his eyes but fought the urge down. Business was business after all.

"Yes, I'm trusting your journey was pleasant? I hear you're here to sell two fine stallions? Long way to come."

Tommy held his hand out for a hand shake, but the little prick only turned his nose up further. Tommy let his hand drop. Today was going to be a long, long day.

"Yes, yes. Family business you see. We raise them, you race them. We're always looking for new clientele. Thomas Riddle, at your service, as they say."

* * *

 **I'm back! Just in time for the new season of Peaky Blinders!**

 _TRANSLATIONS:_  
 _eyniklekh- Granddaughter_  
 _Bubbe- Grandmother_

 **NOTES ON THIS CHAPTER:**

Alfie's muse demanded he be brought in a lot sooner than I was originally planning, and well, I couldn't say no, so here Alfie comes! Plus, having Harry know Alfie before Alfie and Tommy meet, well it makes a good few scenes I have cooking in this demented brain of mine!

As for Harry going on a break, I think it was needed. Merope needs to learn independence by herself, and the only way to truly learn that is to be by yourself. Harry herself needs a break and time to just relax (Though, let's face it, this trip is not going to be 'relaxing' XD). From a very young age, for Harry, everything has been do or die. This is not a healthy mindset and she is digging herself into an early grave, something Bubbe and Merope see and they are not willing to let Harry practically kill herself by trying to do everything at once for nearly everyone.

 **QUESTIONS ANSWERED:**

 **THE THREESOME RELATIONSHIP? IS HARRY GOING TO CHOOSE? WILL ALFIE AND TOMMY FIGHT?**

I can't give too much away, but I do have a few things to clear up. Harry, the one I'm writing and picture when I write, loves and loves deeply. Once you earn that sort of love, nothing gets in its way. Views, ideology, prejudices, nothing. So, say she fell in love with two people, even if the two couldn't stand each other, to Harry it doesn't matter. She loves them, end of.

So what does this mean? In short, Harry doesn't give two fucks. In her life she has been love/attention/affection starved. So when she finds someone worthy, or as she views someone as worthy of that love, she doesn't let other peoples views/thoughts/opinions affect that. Take Remus for example. Harry came to care and love him, found out he was a werewolf, a dangerous creature, a kind belittled, scorned and overall hated, did Harry care? Did it change her love/care of Remus? Hell no.

The same will be for Harry in this fic. If Harry feels like she's doing whats right by herself, her views, her moral compass, she couldn't care less about the outside world. The only thing to change her view would be if she was putting someone in danger/hurting them.

Now, how does this fraction into the Alfie/Harry/Tommy dynamic? Harry, in my mind, doesn't live by societal 'norms'. She's not after a large house, husband, two point four kids to settle down in and grow old (THOUGH! None of those options are fully off the table, they likely just won't come in the form you're expecting them ;)). She loves someone, that's enough for her. That's all she wants... Love. Of course, this is going to bring friction between Alfie and Tommy, and I can't say too much, but I think it will only add to the story and make the relationship more... 'adult' and less fairytale of _'oh, I traveled back in time, fell in love and settled down and the world is at peace now.'_ spin that most HP time travel fics have. I'm not saying that's wrong, I enjoy some of those stories, but this is not one of them. Grown-up feelings, relationships, connections, they're complicated, deeply so. Life in general is the most complicated thing there is. That is what I'm trying to achieve here.

So no, Harry isn't going to choose one or the other. Tommy and Alfie aren't going to be pitted against one another to win the hand of the fair maiden and while there is going to be drama and tension over these relationships for various reasons, Harry is going to love and get the love she deserves back. Sorry, that's all I can say without giving the plot away.

 **ARE WE GOING TO GET TOM RIDDLE JR?**

Once again, I can't say much... But Thomas Riddle Sr is on the scene now... So... ;). In the books, it states that Merope often watched Thomas Riddle ride across the fields and moors on horseback, and horses are often seen around his estate, and well, with Tommy and his racing horses, It was easy to link the two together to bring Daddy Riddle into the picture. How that affects things, well, you'll have to read to find out! ;)

 **IS FREDDIE GOING TO DIE IN THIS FIC?**

Short answer? Nope, I have plans for him. Hint? He plays a very important role in outing Harry in front of a certain 'someone'. That's all I'm giving away.

 **DID POLLY SENSE HARRY'S MAGIC? ARE WE GOING TO MEET THE LEE'S? ARE THEY MAGICAL TOO?**

Yes, Polly did sense it, and so did/does Tommy on some subconscious level. I will say they didn't get the whole, Oh, this is a magical being, more of something isn't quite right here, sort of vibes. Harry, in turn, gets the same feeling from them. Which has added to her frustration with trying to 'pin' Tommy's character down. With the both of them, they both feel something's different with the other, and its piqued both their curiosities. A dangerous mix... ;)

As for the Lee's, yes, they are coming. Yes, they're magical, but definitely not in the way Harry is. Think old, hearth magic. Curses, hexes, words. That's where their power lies. They have no wands, no flashy magic, but don't count them out. Let's just say, eventually, the two have a run in and it unsettles both parties involved.

THANK YOU ALL! Honestly, this chapters been a long time coming and I hope it lived up to your expectations and you are looking forward to what's in store next! Just remember, it might take me a while to update sometimes, but I will never fully abandon a fic!

 **THIS CHAPTER IS FOR EVERYONE WHO REVIEWED!** You are the beautiful people that keep me coming back and writing. Without you, there would only be one chapter of this and that would be all XD. So, here's to you fantastic bastards!

 ** _If you have a spare moment, please drop your thoughts in that little box over there and press review... They make my day!_**

I hope you all enjoyed this, and are looking forward to the next chapter, until next time, stay beautiful! (By order of the PEAKY FUUUUHKIN' BLINDAAHS!)~ _AlwaysEatTheRude21_


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